


I'm not a kitten... Okay, I'm Kitten

by JennaS_26



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adorable Harry, And he's not happy about it, Book 1: Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, Child Abuse, Creature Harry Potter, F/F, F/M, Genius Harry, Harry Potter is Not the Boy-Who-Lived, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Independent Harry Potter, James Potter Bashing, Lily Evans Potter Bashing, M/M, Slytherin Harry Potter, This just turned into a creature fic, WBWL, but this one is no exception, harry likes snuggles and he deserves all of the snuggles!, idk why i keep injuring harry in my fics, not sure how this fic feels about dumbles yet-or voldy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-14 11:15:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 40,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28919661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JennaS_26/pseuds/JennaS_26
Summary: Harry Potter is not the Boy-Who-Lived, but his name is Boy. That's what Ma'am and Sir told him anyway. So why did a letter addressed to 'H. E. Potter, fourth floor elf quarters, Potter Manor' come to him? Did that mean he was allowed to leave the attic?
Relationships: Amelia Odoa/Freya Larrson, James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Lucius Malfoy/Narcissa Black Malfoy, Penelope Clearwater/Percy Weasley, The names you don't recognize are OC's, This is not a crossover - Relationship
Comments: 202
Kudos: 720





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Updates SHOULD be every Monday. I have seven chapters done so far, and I will be writing my behind off to make sure that I have content every Monday.  
> Feel free to let me know if there's something you want to see. If I can make it work, I'll let you know.

INTRO

“What the hell are we supposed to do now?” A tall, thin woman with deep auburn hair demanded angrily.

“I don’t know,” sighed her raven haired, bespectacled husband. “This was not part of the plan.”

“You had better fix this, James, or I swear to Merlin, you will wish that was you on that floor!” She snapped, pointing at the pile of ashes across the room.

“Lils, this was not my fault!” He said, just as angry. “You think I wanted to keep the blasted beast? Why else would I have made Wormtail the secret keeper? He was supposed to die! That's not my fault!”

“What if we just sent it away?” She asked hopefully. “No one has to know that it lived! We can just say-”

James held up his hand. “Auror or not, I can’t go around obliviating the nine bloody people that have seen him! Obliviates can be broken if someone gets suspicious. Besides, you know that Aurors have to undergo regular health screenings, and they will be broken by the goblins.”

As the couple debated on what to do about their… problem, their suggestions grew more outlandish and mental than the last. At first, they wanted to send the beast to her awful muggle sister to deal with. That was impossible. If word got out that they sent that one away, then people would begin to talk. From there, things really started veering far away from anything even remotely sane. For a while they debated on killing him outright and replacing him with a golem spelled to look exactly the same. That was only a temporary solution, so it was out. They even considered giving the little freak a slow acting poison over several years so that it would just look like a sickly child, who would eventually die of ‘natural causes’. The problem with that would be finding someone they could trust well enough to both make such a thing, as well as a healer to confirm that there was no foul play.

In the end, their tempers settled and they realized that they would have to keep it, but there was nothing in this world that could make them _like_ it.

All the while, a little boy with a full head of black hair and startling green eyes watched them. He didn’t understand their words, but he felt their anger. It was scary. They were nice to Jayby, but not nice to Habby. Habby didn’t know why.

But he would get used to it.

CHAPTER 1

It took several months of hearing them talk, never to him, to realize that his brothers' name was not Jayby, but Jamie. Mama and dada talked to Jamie all the time. Habby wondered why they didn't talk to him. It hurt Habby, though it didn't seem to bother anyone else.

Then, after a while, Habby wasn't allowed to see Jamie anymore. He didn't really see anyone anymore.

When Boy, no longer Habby, turned three, he was moved from his nursery to his bedroom. Jamie's moving was cause for celebration, because he was a big boy now. Boy was sent to his new room with a cardboard box of bedding and left alone.

Jamie's new big boy room was on the second floor, near his mum and dad's. Boy's room was on the fourth floor where the house elves used to sleep before mum made dad get rid of them.

Mum didn't know that dad still had one, and just kept it a secret. It was how Boy was fed. Once per day, usually, a tray of food would pop into existence, then pop out an hour or so later.

Boy didn't mind not going to the party for Jamie. He didn't like being ignored, and this way he was alone, but not ignored in person. It was better that way.

When Boy turned five, Sir, no longer dad, hit him for the first time. Ma'am, no longer mum, never said a word. She did, however, smirk at the action. They said Boy deserved it. Boy should not be asking for things, especially tutors like Jamie had. Boy would never need to know the things that Jamie did.

Boy began teaching himself to read so Ma'am and Sir were right. He didn't need tutors because he could teach himself.

When Boy was six, he read through every single book in Jamie's room. Jamie's room was very nice. Boy had not been allowed to walk around in any of the bedrooms, even the empty ones. There were a lot of empty ones. Boy was proud of himself for counting them all. There were four empty bedrooms on the second floor and seven on the third floor. That made eleven empty rooms all together. He didn't have to count on his fingers anymore to add little numbers!

There were no other rooms on his floor, which no one ever went near. It was less than half the size of Jamie's room, but that was okay. There were six small beds, made for house elves. They were set up like triple decker bunk beds. As soon as Boy was led up there, five of the mattresses were banished. It was a little bit bigger than the one he had in his nursery, so it was nice, even if it was thin.

Still, when Ma'am and Sir took Jamie to his friend's house for a playdate, Boy snuck down the stairs and searched three doors before he found the right one.

Boy had frozen on the spot. Jamie's room was amazing. He had a really big bed with soft comfy blankies, and more pillows than Boy could count.

The walls were pale gold and he had thick, fluffy carpets in crimson. There were piles and piles of toys all over the place. On the far wall, there was a bookcase as tall as Boy! There were so many books that Boy guessed it must be a bajillion! And they all looked brand new, even if they were covered in dust.

Settling his nerves, Boy took a deep breath. He carefully reached out and paused, just centimeters from his aim, tensing. He was sure to be caught if he touched anything of Jamie's and he would surely be punished.

Rather than taking as many as his thin arms could carry, which he desperately wanted to do, Boy took two of the skinniest books he could find so that there wouldn't be any gaps in the shelves. Boy couldn't let them know he'd left the fourth floor.

Boy ran so fast that he could barely breathe by the time he hurriedly shut his door.

It only took about eight months of sneaking to read all of Jamie's books.

By the time Boy was seven, he had figured out how to wipe away the spider web-like tendrils of magic surrounding the massive wooden doors to the Potter family library. Much like his escapades to Jamie's room, these trips had to be done in secret.

Twice that year, Boy was caught. Thankfully, he'd been caught on his way to the library, rather than on his way back. If Sir found out that he was reading, Boy would be in a lot of trouble. As it was, Boy was whipped across his back and bottom for sneaking off the fourth floor. For two days, Boy was unable to sit, or move much at all. That was normal for Boy these days.

It was that year that Jamie found out that he had a twin. Sir and ma'am didn't want Jamie to know about Boy, but Jamie had been wandering around the house just as Boy was making his way down the rickety stairs to use the toilet.

It was odd, seeing as Jamie never ventured onto the third floor.

Jamie took Boy's arm and dragged him down the stairs, all the while yelling for 'mum and dad'.

He proceeded to yell about how some street child had wandered into their property and needed to be removed immediately. Jamie was not used to seeing other children in his house, because Sir and Ma'am always had his playdates at his friend's houses.

So, they had to tell Jamie the truth. Boy was his brother, but he was kept away from the family for safety reasons. Boy was diseased and not to be seen or heard by anyone.

Throughout the entire conversation, Boy had not said a word. Jamie did not understand why, but neither Sir nor Ma'am thought to tell him that Boy hadn’t spoken since they were five.

Boy didn't see a reason to break that line of thinking. It was easier for all of them to have a reason to hate him.

By the time Boy was nine, he had finished reading everything in the library, many of them two or three times.

Jamie had asked about Boy exactly four times since he found out about the strange skinny little kid that lived in their attic. Each time, he was distracted by some new gift or activity and Boy was forgotten just as quickly.

Each time this happened, Boy seemed to be forgotten by Ma'am and Sir as well. He didn't eat for a few days after those questions popped up.  
When he was eventually remembered, it wasn't a good thing. Sir was always mad at Boy, despite the fact that Boy did what he was told and had never once talked back, or at all.

One thing Boy learned was to listen. It didn't matter what the conversations were about, just that he heard them. It was the only reason he was able to speak at all. He heard a lot of strange things and a lot of boring things, but in those moments, Boy pretended that he was a part of the world and that they were talking to him.

Until one day when he decided to never listen to Sir and Ma'am again.

Boy was tucked away in the library one day and hadn't heard Sir, Ma'am and Jamie return from visiting someone. They were coming up the stairs and Boy had no way of sneaking back to his room without being caught.

He wedged himself between two freestanding shelves near the door and made sure that the spider webs of magic were back in place.

Sir and Ma'am were gushing over how wonderful their baby was. Boy didn't mind. He'd grown up hearing that and it had stopped bothering him years ago.

What made him break was what they were calling Jamie. Good Boy. Smart Boy. Wonderful Boy. Bestest Boy they could ever ask for.

Jamie wasn't Boy. It didn't matter what kind of boy, but it wasn't Jamie.

Just like that, they gave away the only thing Boy had. His name.

Boy decided that they were not his family. They were Jamie's family. It might seem odd that their comments were what broke the last bit of hope he had held onto all these years, but it did. Boy hated himself, but couldn't bring himself to truly hate Ma'am, Sir or Jamie. It wasn't their fault that Boy was diseased. Boy had no idea what his disease was, but it had to be really bad for them to dislike him so much.

That was the first time Boy hurt himself. It scared him, but it also made him feel better. Boy decided that he would keep scratching his arms, but only when he needed to.

When the scratches healed by morning, Boy was sad the marks were gone. He should have known that he couldn't do it right. So he tried again. And again. But every morning was the same. His scratched up arms would only be faintly pink and irritated.

It was the first time in years that Boy cried.

By the time Boy was ten, he sported a constant glamour to hide his arms and the fact that Sir was forgetting to feed him more often than ever and that Sir began visiting Boy regularly. Before, Boy had only seen Sir a few times per month, if that. Now, Sir was visiting him at least twice a week! Sir didn't talk much to him, but he did talk to himself around Boy. Boy pretended that he was having his first conversation ever. Maybe he was still part of the family.

Despite the fact that Sir only visited when he had bad days at work and needed to vent his frustration with his fists, and a few vicious comments, Boy was somewhat pleased that he was spending time with Sir. It was okay because, in those moments, he was being acknowledged, and that made all the cuts and bruises worth it.

"BOY!"

Boy didn't answer, too shocked that he was being called, but he did go to the bottom of the stairs, just in case Sir called again.

"Bloody useless bastard," Sir was muttering. "Boy, get down here now!"

Scrambling down to the second floor, Boy hesitated. Was he going to be allowed to go to the first floor? Why? Was it a trick so he would break the rules?

"What the fuck is wrong with you?!" Sir shouted from the bottom of the stairs.

Boy was really expected to go to the second floor?

"I said, get down here!"

Boy hurried to comply, knowing what would happen if he disobeyed. He stopped several feet away and looked at the floor. They always said that he was not allowed to look them in the eye, but at the floor.

Two envelopes were thrust under his downturned nose. Boy didn’t even attempt to ask what it was about or read it. His brow knit in confusion. Sir had never given him anything, and he was becoming more and more suspicious that this was all a trick.

“Take the fucking letters, already!”

It was a letter? Boy reached out a shaky hand and held the letters at his side. There were two! Sir didn’t know he could read, so he would do that later, when he was in the safety of his room.

Boy fell abruptly forward on the faux marble flooring when something struck his head from behind. It was Ma’am.

“Get up!” She demanded.

Slowly and dizzily, Boy did as instructed.

“Look at me, boy.”

It was really bright down here. Boy wasn’t used to so much light. Even so, he squinted up at Ma’am. She was blurry.

“Now, you are going to listen.” She said viciously. “You are going to go to the Ministry for testing. We already know you’ll fail.”

Boy was confused. He was going to leave the house? Why? What had he done wrong? Why were they kicking him out? Were they going to the Ministry to disown him fully?

That was in one of the books he’d read. Proper disownment had to be completed there or at Gringotts, since so many important documents were kept there for legal reasons.

“As soon as they find out how stupid you are, you won’t ever leave the attic again. Do you hear me?”

Boy nodded in relief. He wasn’t being kicked out. The letters must be something official, as they had been handed to him directly. Official mail had to be opened by the recipient, or whoever kept track of those things would be notified that their mail was never sent. From there, they would keep being sent until one was finally handled by the proper recipient.

He had never gotten mail before!

“Get back upstairs.” Sir growled, cuffing him sharply.

With that said, Boy bolted up the stairs as fast as his legs would carry him. There were a lot of stairs. He was panting as he reached the third floor, and gasping as he closed his door.

He stared at the letters in confusion. One was addressed to Mr. H. E. Potter, fourth floor elf quarters, Potter Manor. The second was addressed to Mr. Harry Potter, Potter Manor.

H. E. Potter. Harry Potter. What did the ‘E’ stand for? Was that Boy? That wasn’t Boy. There was only one way to find out. Boy had to try to open one of them, but which one?

Taking a deep breath, Boy opened the one that said Harry Potter on it. To his immense shock, the wax seal broke easily. He was Harry Potter after all. No, he was Boy. That was the name Sir and Ma’am gave him, and he was Boy.

_**Mr. Potter,** _  
_**It has come to the attention of the Educational Department that you may have been enrolled in your first year at Hogwarts under false pretenses. Please report to the Ministry at nine o’clock on the morning of July 21st for competency testing to address these concerns.** _  
_**Sincerely,** _  
_**Lord Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, Board of Education** _

Boy’s shoulders dropped. Sir worked at the Ministry. Sir told them he was too stupid to attend school.

He knew what the second letter was without having opened it. Still, he opened it anyway. It was his acceptance letter, just as he thought. Wait. Hogwarts starts at age eleven. Was he eleven? He must be, if he was receiving an acceptance.

Glossing over the book list on the second page, Boy frowned. He had read all of those years ago. Did they already know that he was stupid, and decide to give him easier work? They didn’t have to do that. At least, not until he was tested. He knew that information already.

Honestly, Boy was afraid of going. Boy had never left the house before, and Ma’am and Sir were often talking about various functions and parties that they went to, and how they saw a lot of people. Boy had read a handful of books on manners and whatnot, but he had never dealt with people before. He knew how to in theory, but that was it. Theory and practice were two very different things.

How far away was July 21st? He knew it was summer already, but he wasn’t sure beyond that.

He had read a lot about Hogwarts, but did he want to go? It sounded amazing, but could he handle it? The professors would talk to him. Was he allowed to talk to them as well? Was he even smart enough to get in?

Yes, Boy finally decided. He had to go. He had to do his very best on the tests, no matter what.

Boy paled. He was going to have to write properly for the tests, wasn’t he? He only knew how in theory. He used his fingers to write in the dust, but he had never used a quill and ink. There were some books on calligraphy that he’d read, but he wasn’t able to actually try to do it.

Boy was going to fail, just like they thought.

Pulling up the baggy sleeves of his shirt, Boy started scratching. After a few minutes, Boy began to cry as he held a broken piece of the triple decker bunk bed in his hand. It wasn’t very often that he resorted to this method, but every once in a while, scratching just didn’t do enough. Boy focused on the bit of wood until he felt it change. The wood became a flat piece of metal with a sharp side. He was very careful not to make the whole thing sharp, so he didn’t cut up his hands.

When all was said and done, and the bleeding slowed, Boy felt calm.

Boy gasped. If he could turn the wood into metal, surely he could make it into a quill! He would have time to practice after all! Boy picked up a slightly bigger piece and focused with all his might on a picture he’d seen a long time ago, of a pretty tan quill with white spots. He nearly cried when it worked. It was just like the picture, but he was too tired to celebrate. It was always like that when Boy did a lot of magic. Magic without a wand like he’d read about, was much harder to control, therefore making the caster tire easily.

Was Boy struggling too much? Was he supposed to be this tired? Was he as bad as Sir and Ma’am always told him?

Curling up into a tight ball, Boy fell asleep.

For five days, Boy practiced with the quill, picking open his scabs for something to write with in lieu of ink. He started by just writing the alphabet and numbers. The first day alone was dedicated to figuring out how to hold the quill without breaking the nib or making his fingers cramp up by squeezing too tightly or pressing too hard.

On the sixth day, Boy was jolted awake by a loud banging. He sat up, heart hammering in his chest. What was that?

“Get the hell up!” Sir shouted through the closed door. “Move it!”

Boy raced to comply. Halfway down the long flight of stairs, the pounding started again. Boy was so startled, he lost his footing and tumbled the rest of the way down. His right hand was bent awkwardly under his back and his face exploded in pain.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” Sir said, sounding angry.

The door wrenched open and Boy toppled into the hall.

Sir yanked Boy from the floor and looked him over. “Fucking idiot. Episky! Now, move it. You need to be clean and dressed in ten minutes.”

Boy saw stars when his nose was magically set into place, but he went to the loo and wiped down as quickly as he could. Boy used a towel to hide as much of himself as possible, even wrapping it around his arms. It was lucky he was so small, otherwise he might not have been able to cover himself fully.

He knew it hadn’t been ten minutes yet, but he still had to dress. In the ministry, people wore robes. Boy didn’t have robes. Boy had some clothes that were already worn out before he got them. He had one pair of trousers and two shirts. They were too big. What was he going to do?

“Aren’t you done yet?” Sir yelled, banging on the door.

Boy held the towel in place with his injured hand and opened the door with the other, tucking it back in the towel straight away.

“Put this on, and you’d better be quick, boy.” The threatening tone in Sir’s voice was not necessary. Boy knew better than to disobey.

It took a few tries, but eventually Boy figured out how to put the robes on. They were huge, pooling at his feet. He didn’t think they were supposed to be that long.

He opened the door again, and stared at the floor.

“Of course you don’t even grow properly. Hold your arms out at your sides.” Sir demanded, growing impatient. He whipped out his wand- so that what they look like in real life- and waved it around, muttering in Latin.

To Boy’s surprise, he recognized most of what was being chanted, as his robes shrunk.

“Go.”

Boy went down to the second floor, but hesitated before feeling something jab him in the ribs. He hurried down the rest of the way.

Boy had read about floo-ing but never thought he’d experience it. He didn’t like it. Sir tugged him away from the floo as soon as he stepped out, and ushered him into a corner.

Sir knelt down, shocking Boy. “All right, look at me, you little shit.” Sir had a kind smile on his face as he spoke quietly. “They’re going to either call you Mr. Potter or Harry, understand? Don’t you dare look surprised when they do. They’ll call you in and you’ll do whatever the fuck they tell you to do. You will not talk about your homelife. While we’re here, if you have to talk to me, you will call me father, otherwise, you keep your bloody mouth shut.”

Boy looked at the floor and gave a slight nod. He couldn’t look at Sir when he smiled. It wasn’t right. Before today, he’d only seen it when Sir looked at Ma’am or Jamie. Having it done to him was terrifying.

“Then let’s go, already. It’s almost nine.”

“Mr. Potter,” said a tall, blond man. “Come with me, please.”

Boy was terrified. There were so many people walking around, and some of them got really close to him because there wasn’t room for everyone. He had nearly fainted when they had to get onto the lift. There were thirteen people, other than Sir and himself, crammed into the small space. It jerked and bounced around and changed direction at the drop of a hat! Why did he leave the house?

Boy took a fortifying breath as he stood to follow the tall man.

“Do you understand why you’ve been brought here today?” The man asked.

Boy nodded.

“Do you understand what will be expected of you?”

He shook his head.

“Do you speak at all?” The man drawled, sounding exasperated.

Nod.

“This is going to be a long day.”

Boy didn’t respond. He was led to a large room without windows. There were two tables. One was relatively small and only had one seat. The second was much longer and had five seats all on one side, facing the small table. Four of the five seats were occupied. He didn’t dare move to take the open seat. He didn’t dare do anything without express permission. This was the first time he’d seen so many people at once, and they were all watching him.

“Mr. Potter?” Someone asked. It was the blond man.

Boy looked up from the floor, wondering why he was being talked to again. Wasn’t he just supposed to take a test and leave?

“Have your parents discussed this meeting with you?”

Nod.

“Verbal responses only, please.”

“Yes, sir,” he croaked. It had been a while since the last time Boy spoke.

“What reason were you given, regarding this testing?”

Uh… “They’re not sure I’m ready for Hogwarts, sir.” His voice was hoarse from disuse. He should have practiced for this! Stupid stupid stupid st-

“And did they explain why?” An older witch asked from the left side of the table. There was a stuffed pheasant on her hat!

Head shake. “No ma’am.” It didn’t crack that time! Progress.

“Very well,” another witch said from the right side. “Take your seat and as soon as you feel comfortable, you may begin. There is no time limit, just do your best.”

Nod. He went to the small table and flipped over the parchment.

An hour and a half later, he was handed another test. This one was several pages longer than the first, which had only been three pages. It was going to take him too long. They were going to fail him for being stupid! His eyes squeezed shut and his grip on the quill- a real quill!- tightened. The quill snapped. No! He closed his fist around the break and focused, ignoring the heartbeat pounding in his ears. It was okay. The quill wasn’t broken anymore. He let out a relieved sigh and went back to his work.

After that, there was a third test, and it was even longer! His hand was cramping up. He shook out his fingers, hoping to ease the cramping.

“Would you like to take a break, Mr. Potter?” One wizard asked from between the blond man in the middle and the witch on the left.

Boy shook his head, even though he needed the loo. It could wait. He had to do well on this test. Over the past few days, Boy realized just how much he really wanted to go to Hogwarts. He might make a friend. That was reason enough for him. He wanted nothing more than a friend. For years, he held hope that Ma’am and Sir might come to like him, but had given it up. Just because that hope was impossible didn’t mean that making a friend was too, so that’s what he would focus on.

“Before you begin, Mr. Potter,” the blond man said, looking up from Boy’s second test with something akin to wonder on his face. “I must ask, have you ever used a wand?”

Boy blinked, then shook his head. How would he have ever gotten his hands on a wand?

The blond man lifted his brow.

“No, sir,” Boy said quickly, remembering that they wanted verbal answers.

He passed the pages to the others.

“But you are educated in these spells.”

“In theory, sir.” It was strange calling these people ‘sir’ and ‘ma’am’, but at the same time, natural.

The blond man rose from his seat and approached Boy. “This is not a part of your testing, but humor me. Try to cast a levitation charm on this.”

He placed his pocket watch on the table.

Quick to obey, Boy focused on lifting the watch. He didn’t notice that the blond man was holding out his wand, handle first, toward him.

When Boy opened his eyes, he was relieved to see that it had worked. Then he noticed that all five of the people were staring at him, jaws dropped. The watch clattered to the table.

Boy gasped when the hinge broke. He immediately picked it up and focused on fixing it. This could fail him! He wasn’t supposed to break anything, just take a test! “I’m so sorry, sir!” He said vehemently, checking the hinge. Oh, thank Merlin. It was fixed!

The blond man looked at his watch, then the other people in stunned silence. Eventually, he cleared his throat. “I would like you to try that again, but this time, I ask that you attempt to use my wand.”

This time, it was Boy whose jaw dropped. Using someone else’s wand was a huge deal. It was like… like… well, it was supposed to be really disrespectful. “I couldn’t!”

“With permission,” he began gently, holding out the wand again. “It is a perfectly respectable practice.”

“Lucius, perhaps Mr. Potter would feel more comfortable trying with his father’s wand?” The witch on the right suggested. “It might be better matched, since they are so closely related.”

“Would that be agreeable to you, Mr. Potter?” The blond man, Lucius, asked.

No! He couldn’t ask for his father’s wand! Calm. Calm down. Breathe, before you get into trouble, you bloody idiot! “Um, that’s… that’s all right, sir. I could try yours.”

Lucius smiled a bit. Unlike when sir smiled at him, Lucius’ smile seemed genuine. “Go ahead,” he said encouragingly.

Boy was floored. This man actually wanted him to do well. Why? Boy shook his head. It didn’t matter. If someone wanted him to do well, then he would. No one had ever wanted that before, and he wasn’t going to let Lucius down.

“Wingardium Leviosa!” Boy said clearly, giving the borrowed wand a swish and flick motion, just like the book said.

The watch lifted slowly, and Boy found it more difficult than without a wand. Still, he held firm in his concentration, not willing to let it fall. He guided the watch through some slightly less than elegant patterns before letting it land in its owners’ hand.

“Tell me, Mr. Potter,” Lucius said, kneeling next to Boy. “What was the most difficult spell you’ve attempted?”

Boy had to think about it for a moment. He pointed the wand at his own pocket. “Ignoretur Crescere!”

Their eyes widened.

Lucius pointed at the pocket. “Could you demonstrate?”

Boy carefully set the wand on the table and reached into his pocket. He reached further and further until he was up to his shoulder. He had done it! His undetectable expansion charm worked! Boy was thrilled! But tired. He yawned.

“Should I continue my test, sir?” Boy asked, surprised at himself. He couldn’t remember ever speaking without being prompted to, and that was only today! Before that, he had only ever spoken when he was alone. Maybe leaving the house was a good thing!

“Are you going to be able to stay awake for it?” The witch on the right asked playfully.

Boy nodded vigorously. He was tired, but he felt so exhilarated at the same time! “Yes, ma’am!”

Lucius chuckled, picking up his wand. “In that case, you may begin.”


	2. Chapter 2

Hours later, Boy slumped in his seat, slowly falling asleep.

When a door shut, he snapped awake. Blinking, Boy looked around, having forgotten where he was.

“Please,” Lucius said coolly. “Come in. We have just finished going over young Mr. Potter’s tests.”

Boy sat up straight, terrified that he failed. “Did I pass?” He asked quietly.

The five people up at the big table laughed.

Boy deflated. They were laughing at him. He failed.

Sir rubbed his forehead. “I’ll take him home, then.”

“Oh, hush James!” The witch on the left said, still chuckling.

“I apologize, Lady Longbottom,” Sir said, seemingly calm. Boy knew that look though. Sir wasn’t calm at all. “Please continue.”

“Lord Potter,” Lucius began. “Have you ever cast a spell both wandlessly and wordlessly?”

Sir cleared his throat. “One or the other, but not simultaneously. May I ask why?”

“Your son has done both,” Lucius said with a smirk. “Simultaneously.”

“What?” Sir demanded. “That’s bullshit. It’s not possible!”

“James!” Lady Longbottom cried out, shocked. “What is the matter with you?”

“I am wondering the same.” Lucius said. “Why exactly did you express concern over your son’s ability to function above the level of a five year old, when he is clearly advanced for his age? I wonder how well your other son performs, if this is what you consider below average. Is the Boy Who Lived able to sit for his OWLs? If that is the case, I would like the name of your sons’ tutors.”

Sir gaped at them. “What do you mean? Of course Jamie isn’t ready to sit his OWLs! He’s not even eleven yet! Are you mad?”

Boy hugged himself, wanting to go back to his floor of Sir’s house. Why did he think leaving was a good idea again?

Lucius paused. “We will be sending a revised supplies list for Mr. Potter some time before his birthday.”

“Revised list? Why?” Sir asked through clenched teeth and a smile.

Lady Longbottom looked at the others in bewilderment.

Boy stared at his shoes, thinking about how misleading they were. They were good quality shoes, but clearly well worn. The funny thing was, before today, Boy had never worn shoes before. He’d never had to. It was a strange feeling, but he couldn’t imagine walking around outside without them. Before today, he’d never walked outside either, so it didn’t make much difference.

He’d actually had to use magic to tie his shoes, because he had no idea how to do it otherwise. Jamie didn’t have any books on tying shoes.

The other people talked with Sir for a while, but Boy stayed silent and perfectly still, in hopes of avoiding Sir’s anger. Even if the people couldn’t see it, Boy could.

“Lils, where’s Jamie?” Sir asked, still feigning calm as he stepped smoothly out of the floo.

“Spending the night at the Burrow, why?” Came the bored reply. “What took so long anyway? I thought you’d be back after a couple of hours. How long could it possibly take to find out that he's a waste of space?”

Boy was trying to figure out how to get upstairs without being seen. He didn’t get very far.

Sir grabbed his collar tightly, pulling him toward the stairs. Sir was able to move a lot more quickly than Boy.

Boy couldn’t breathe, and he was pawing at Sir’s hand, desperate for air. He couldn’t keep up with the furious pace. Every time Boy would lose his footing, Sir would pull up on his collar, bringing him back to his feet to start the process all over again.

That night, Boy had no trouble sleeping, as Sir beat him viciously, all the while swearing that Boy had cheated somehow.

Boy got another letter. It was his updated book list. He was pleased that all of the books for the stupid people classes were removed. He wasn’t stupid after all!

For the first time in his life, Boy almost smiled.

A couple of weeks later, Boy was dragged out of his attic again and was roughly stuffed into the same set of robes as he wore for the testing at the ministry.

Again, they floo’d. This time, they wound up in a seedy looking pub. It was dark, much to Boy’s relief, as the bright green flames hurt his eyes.

Sir had his hand clamped tightly on Boy’s shoulder and it hurt, but Boy knew better than to try to wriggle out of the painful grip.  
He was dragged to a book shop, where he was told to wait by the door. Boy wondered why Sir and Ma’am didn’t question his ability to read without ever having been instructed, though he was more pleased than curious. He couldn’t let them find out about his many trips to their library over the years. Maybe they just forgot that he’d never been properly taught.

While Sir collected Boy’s books, Boy was stationed in the corner by the front door. There were so many people coming and going! He was bumped into and apologized to so many times that he was almost dizzy at the level of activity! How was this so easy for them? Weren’t any of them afraid of being trampled by all of the foot traffic? In the fifteen minutes sir was away from him, he’d been bumped into twenty-two times! Thirteen times he was apologized to. How do people live like this?

Finally, they left the book shop. Next was the apothecary. Sir did the shopping there too. This store, at least, was mostly empty. There were only three people inside, not counting Sir and himself. One was an old grizzled looking man with a fake eye and a long unkempt beard that stood behind the counter. The second was a witch a little older than Sir. She was cackling at a display of fermented animal parts. The last person in the shop was sniffing and inspecting various herbs. Apparently, most of them were not the quality he was looking for, judging by the look on his face.

Boy didn’t pay him any mind until Sir decided to stop and talk to him. It was the way that Sir spoke that caught his attention. It was the same tone he used with Boy. He clearly didn’t like the man, whoever he was.

“It must be nice,” Sir sneered at the man. “Being able to laze about for months every year while the rest of us actually work. How was your little holiday, Snivellus?”

“Completely validated, now that I have been fortunate enough to find a Potter willingly educating himself.” The man said, eyeing up Boy’s books. “Is the big bad Auror finally going to learn to read above the level of the average thirteen year old? My, my, wonders never cease.”

Boy was horrified at the way this man was speaking to Sir. He was worried what Sir might do to him. Just because the man wasn't very nice to look at, doesn't mean that he's a bad guy. Sir was very nice looking and he wasn't a good guy.

Pushing aside his fears, Boy watched the way they interacted with fascination. Boy was shocked to realize that he wanted the strange man with the nice voice to win their battle of wills. He just hoped the man didn't get hurt along the way.

While Sir was yelling and causing a scene, the silky voiced man remained calm and continued his shopping, maintaining a bored tone at a respectable volume, insulting Sir with an astonishing wit all the while.

Boy didn't understand. Sir only ever spoke to Boy with that much anger, not other people. Did that mean the man was somehow like Boy? Was he locked away from everyone too?

Sir said the man's name was Snivellus, but that didn't sound like a real name. Who was he to judge? His name was Boy.

By the time Sir finished berating the man at the apothecary, it was already getting close to four. He was shoved into a robe shop. This store was, like the apothecary, blessedly empty.

Boy was directed toward a little platform to be measured, which he did immediately.

"Do you want four extra sets of uniforms for this little one too?" The woman measuring him asked Sir, then turned her attention back to Boy. "You're just darling, aren't you?"

Boy's cheeks flamed, entirely unused to such things

"He won't need the extras, Mrs. Whelan. Jamie just plays harder than he does." Sir made his tone light, but there was an underlying tension that was difficult to pick up for most.

"Alright, young man," she said kindly, straightening her legs with a wince. "All that's left for you to do is pick out what kind of fabric you want your winter cloak made from. I know your brother chose acromantula silk lined with rabbit fur, but what about you?” She then proceeded to show him over a dozen various fabrics and furs for lining. “Or do you want the same?"

"He's sensitive to most furs," Sir lied easily. "Cotton and wool should be fine."

Her brow lifted, but she didn't reply. "Does that sound good to you, little one?" She looked at Boy as she spoke.

Boy liked that she smiled so much. "Yes, ma'am. Thank you." He smiled back, but just a tiny one. He hoped he did it right.

She patted his cheek and sent them on their way, promising to have the robes finished before school began.

Sir pushed- guided- him back to the seedy pub and toward the floo.

"Sir?" Boy asked meekly. "My wand."

"Later," sir said, tightening his grip on Boy's shoulder. "Potter Manor!" He said loudly, pushing him into the flames.

Boy was heartbroken that he hadn’t been allowed to get his wand. That was what he’d been most looking forward to ever since he held Lucius’. That thrum of energy was like nothing he had ever experienced. It was phenomenal and he couldn’t wait to get that feeling back.

He was unbelievably nervous to start school. There would be a lot more people around than there was at Diagon Alley, and what’s more, he wasn’t going to be able to escape the crowds at the end of the day. How was he supposed to deal with that?

Boy remembered a small section in the library that had books on the magical benefits of meditation. Despite the fact that most people used it to better reach their magic, the book did say that it was good for ‘emotional balance’. That had included a bunch of different things from depression to anxiety and was supposed to increase energy. He wasn’t sure, but he was willing to give it a try. If that didn’t work, he might be able to make some calming draughts in Hogwarts.

Hogwarts. He really was going to school. He was going to leave the house for four months. That was a long time. A really long time. It was one third of an entire year.

But… for those four months, Sir wouldn’t be around to hit him. Ma’am wouldn’t be around to make him feel bad. And Jamie would be there too. Would they be in the same house? Would they be allowed to talk to each other? Could they maybe… be friends?

What was Jamie like? Was he cold and mean like Sir? Or was he kind like Lucius or smiley like Mrs. Whelan? Was he funny? Boy didn’t know any jokes. Maybe Jamie would teach him how to make jokes or play games. Boy had read a lot about different games like gobstones, chess and exploding snap, there were even some instructions on muggle card games like poker and go fish.

All too soon, and not soon enough, it was time. It was the morning of September 1st, and Boy's first time going to Hogwarts.

Boy could hear Jamie's excitement all the way up to his attic in the form of rapid, thudding footfalls and lots of chatter, often broken up by giggles.

While Jamie was happy, Boy was miserable. Sir still hadn't taken him to get a wand. What was he supposed to do without a wand? It was a school of Magic!

He wanted to go down there and ask Sir about it, but he was scared of what might happen if he did. Was he meant to wait for someone to bring him down to leave together? Was he supposed to take the initiative and go down to the first floor by himself?

Taking a slow breath, Boy grabbed his trunk and started down the stairs. After the second thud, Boy cringed at the sound and squeezed his eyes closed, focusing on the trunk. Quick as a flash, it began floating behind him.

As Boy made his way down the last flight of stairs, he slowed. By the time he reached the room that all the noise was coming from, he was barely shuffling.

Jamie was running past when he suddenly jerked to a halt. He looked confusedly at Boy before a glint of recognition reached his eyes. “You’re still here? I thought you left years ago.”

Boy shook his head.

Sir and Ma’am told Boy to stay and pulled Jamie out into the hall. It took them twelve minutes to come back.

Boy noticed that Jamie was much taller than he was and wondered if it was Jamie’s robes that he’d had to wear to go to the ministry and out shopping.

Ma’am pushed him toward the floo and he stumbled, but quickly righted himself. That was something he had noticed. It was never her hand that pushed him, but bursts of magic. Ma’am wouldn’t dirty herself by touching him.

It was due to reading that Boy was able to exit the floo with grace. The trick was to step out on a quarter turn to help maintain balance after stopping so abruptly.

He was quickly lost in the crowd, unable to find his way back to the floos to wait for Sir, Ma’am and Jamie. Wanting to get away from all the people, Boy decided to board the train.

Trying to wriggle through the crowd was no easy feat, considering the fact that he seemed to be the only person that was at least attempting to make it through without running into as many people as humanly possible. The moment he stepped foot on the train, he let out a breath of relief. Then he saw how overrun it was. It took a while, but Boy was able to get to the very back of the train and throw himself into an oddly shaped compartment. He shut the door loudly and took a few minutes to collect himself.

When Boy finally settled, he dug around his half-empty trunk for his copy of Numerology and Grammatica Volume Three as well as Spellman’s Advanced Syllabary to reread. For Boy, reading something once and expecting the knowledge to stick was impractical. He read books several times over before he would say that he fully understood. This was the second time reading both. It was okay, he had several hours to finish them before they would arrive at Hogwarts for the first time. He was so excited!

His name wasn’t called. He wasn’t supposed to be here. They changed their minds. Jamie was called after the Patils, but Boy should have been called since they were in alphabetical order. Jamie went to Gryffindor.

A kid called Zabini, Blaise was sorted into Slytherin, and that was it.

Boy was left standing in the middle of the Great Hall by himself. Everyone else was seated already.

“Albus?” The stern looking witch said confusedly. “There are no more names for the first years. Who is this child?”

That started the whispers.

“Ah!” Headmaster Dumbledore said, his eyes lighting up. “This, Professor McGonagall, is a special case. I believe his name was not on the first year list, as he will be joining the OWL students.”

The whispers dissolved into full blown conversation and every eye in the Hall was on Boy.

Boy stared at his shoes.

“Everyone,” the Headmaster said, raising his hands. “Everyone, settle down, please.” His gaze locked on the top of Boy’s bowed head. “If you would, my boy? We need to get you sorted before the Hat falls into his yearly hibernation.”

Ears perking at hearing his name, Boy shuffled to the front of the room, keeping his head down as much as possible. He climbed onto the too-tall stool as he’d seen the others do and waited.

The hat was too big and slipped down over his eyes. He made no move to try to adjust it, finding calm in the dark. It also helped that the entire Hall was in absolute silence.

“Another Potter child?” The Hat asked him, a hint of surprise. “I had no idea.”

That didn’t surprise Boy. Even Jamie didn’t actually know him. He thought back to the day they had met.

“He thought you to be a street child?” The Hat seemed to sigh. “You, my boy, have the heart of a survivor, the mind of a scholar, the cunning of a thief, and the ability to love even those who don’t deserve second chances. This is not an easy choice.”

He wanted to apologize for being difficult, but didn’t dare open his mouth for fear that he would cry. He didn’t belong anywhere. Sir and Ma’am were right after all. There was no place for him. Maybe they would just let him go back to his attic when the Hat threw him out.

“Throw you out?!” The Hat was shocked. “I would never abandon such a special child! Or any child! My boy, Harry, I know exactly where you need to be. It won’t be easy, but in the end, it will be the best for you.”

There was a pause. “SLYTHERIN!”

The Hufflepuffs on Boy’s far left began to clap politely, as did the Slytherins, but the other two houses were still silent.

A couple of the Ravenclaw’s were demanding to know why such a gifted child was being withheld from their House, and the Gryffindor’s never cheered for Slytherins.

Keeping his eyes down, Boy slid from the stool and placed the Hat on it. He shuffled toward the table all the way on the right and went to the furthest corner by the doors.

The students that looked closest to his age politely ignored him, except for one.

“So, you must be the one my father had to test.” The blond said. “I’m Draco Malfoy.”

Malfoy? “Is Lucius your father?” Boy asked with interest. When the blond preened under the recognition, Boy continued. “He was really nice to me, and even let me use his wand.”

The blond gasped, his eyes darkening. “An insignificant nothing like you touched the wand of a Malfoy? How dare you?!”

Boy was startled. He hadn’t asked for the wand! He had known it was disrespectful! Why had Lucius told him it was okay, when it obviously wasn’t? He scratched his upper arms before remembering where he was and put his palms flat on the table. He quickly snatched them back when the table became flooded with food and drinks.

He might not have known what any of this stuff was, but it smelled incredible. Oh, wait. There were a few things he was able to identify. Bread and broth were what he ate most, but there was something wrong with the broth. There was stuff floating in it. Pushing aside the intense urge to try everything, he took a breath. This was normal stuff. There would be plenty of time to try it all. He would be able to develop likes and dislikes, though he could scarcely imagine not liking anything on the table.

Based on looks alone, he could identify a handful of things he’d never seen in person. With that in mind, he decided that he would try one or two new things every single day, but still stick to his staples of bread, broth and potatoes. He had no idea what the strange colored drinks were, so he drank only water.

One of the students near him was ladeling some of the broth into a bowl, making sure to get lots of the floating things and not much broth.

Boy didn’t know what it was, but it was certainly colorful. He waited patiently to see if anyone else was going to get any, and carefully scooped the broth into his own bowl.

It was incredible. It didn’t taste anything like what he’d been given in his attic! He couldn’t figure out what the flavors were, just that there were a lot of them and that he loved every spoonful. Some of the floating things had snuck into his bowl and they were delicious too! He especially liked the orange circular ones.

Doing his best on that test was the smartest thing he’d ever done.

When a tall thin man at the staff table stood, Boy gasped. Every Slytherin student seemed to be waiting for him to stand, and mimicked the action, following out in an orderly fashion.

It was the man from the apothecary! The one that was trading insults with Sir! He was a professor?! Why would Sir be so mean to a professor? Boy had always wanted a professor, and to find out that Sir didn’t respect them was like a blow to the gut. Professors were so important! They deserved a lot of respect, and Sir obviously didn’t care.

It wasn’t right. Boy was going to respect all of his professors, no matter what!

The professor led them down further and further until Boy actually got cold. That didn’t bother Boy. He liked the cold. During the winter, he often made himself a sort of window in his attic to let some of the heat out. The attic was always hot and his ‘window’ was just big enough to cool the small space. He knew it wasn’t really a window, but a hole in the wall that he’d pushed some magic into, but that was okay.

Seeing the portraits talk and move was nothing new to Boy, but they made him wary. The portraits on the third floor had ratted him out a few times, when he snuck down to the second floor. That had earned him several beatings. He didn’t much like them.

“Do you think any of them will be worthy, this year?” A portrait said to Boy’s left.

“Of course not! Why do you always do this?” Another voice asked. “You just set yourself up for disappointment time and time again! Stop trying to suss out speakers! There hasn’t been one in fifty years! Give up already!”

Boy’s eyes widened. Why were the portraits bickering about how worthless the students were, right in front of them?

“Wait,” the first said. “Did you see that?”

“See what?” The second asked, sounding tired.

“That one! With the black fur. It’s listening!”

Why were they standing around, Boy wondered. He wanted to get away from the rude paintings.

“It is not.”

They finally started moving again.

“STOP!” The first shouted.

Boy jerked back, trying to identify the person in the painting. Why did no one else seem to hear it? He peered at the painting, but there was no one in the wooded landscape. He was losing his mind.

“Touch your fangs if you can hear us!”

“I don’t have fangs…?” Boy blurted without thinking.

“A SPEAKER!” The first voice cried. “I TOLD YOU LATHASSA!”

What was talking? There were no people. “I really am going mad.”

Something in the painting shifted. There were two snakes slithering around. One of them, sleek and black, raised itself on its coil and opened its mouth. “Why are you going mad?” That must be Lathassa.

Boy was so confused. “Because snakes don’t talk!”

“Of course we do, hatchling!” The other snake said. This one was pure white and had red eyes.

They were both talking. How? Was it some kind of trick?

“The other hatchlings are staring.” The black snake said, flicking its tail behind Boy.

He turned around and found all of the Slytherins staring at him with a mixture of horror and curiosity.

The professor was the first to snap out of it. “Everyone inside! Now!” He barked, indicating an open portrait hole.

The professor, who Boy now knew was called Professor Snape, and not Snivellus, discussed how the House worked and told them where the dorms were.

That brought up an issue. When Boy began to follow the other new students, he was hurt to realize that there were five beds with trunks, and none of them were his. There wasn’t even room for him.

He went to the common room in time to see his trunk floating down the stairs from the fifth year dorm. The levitation spell either faltered, or was let go, as his trunk smashed onto the stone steps and rolled the rest of the way down, upending itself with each thud.

Since there was no one around, Boy allowed himself to cry as he pulled the trunk closer to the fire so that he would be able to see the damage better. The trunk was second hand and it had already had plenty of scuff marks and dents, but it hadn’t been broken. It was now. Three of the little metal pieces on the corners had come off as well as the lock. Two ink pots were completely destroyed and one was cracked, but not leaking. His robes were covered in ink, and he was thankful that he only had black ink, and it didn’t ruin them. Some of the jars for his potions ingredients were chipped, but nothing came out. That was a good thing. A couple of his books, which were also second hand, had ink splotches on the covers. His cauldron, however, had a long crack down the entire length. None of his other things were too badly damaged, to his immense relief.

Those crystal phials were not cheap.

He was already exhausted, so fixing his belongings would have to wait until tomorrow. Besides, he still had to figure out where he was going to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

When Boy woke, he had no idea what time it was. The broom cupboard he had found the night before had no windows, so he hurried to get dressed, terrified of being late on his very first day. The robes that had been covered in ink had dried and crusted on the fabric. He was just happy that he had one clean set. Before he could do anything else, he had to fix his belongings. There was no telling which classes he had, so he had no idea what supplies he needed and what he could do without. So, for the next twenty minutes, Boy pushed his magic into each broken item (except for the ink pots) to fix them. He also turned one of his ink covered robes into a temporary knapsack. That was just one more thing that Sir had forgotten to pick up. That was fine. He should be able to find something to use later, so that he could still have his third set of robes. It wouldn’t have mattered if he’d gotten four extra sets like Jamie.

Boy blinked, never having been mad at Jamie’s preferential treatment before. So why now? Shaking his head, he put his ear to the door and listened for a few seconds. He didn’t want anyone to know that he’d slept in the broom cupboard, or to know where his trunk was being stashed.

It was only until he could find a better place to sleep.

When he deemed the coast to be clear, he snuck out of the cupboard and shut the door with a soft snick. The common room was blessedly empty. He checked the ornate grandfather clock in the corner. It was almost six. Since breakfast began at seven, people should start coming down soon. Sitting in front of the fireplace, he settled in to wait.

At least he hadn’t overslept.

It took thirty-seven minutes before the first of the Slytherins began to trickle into the common room. Within ten minutes, the rest of the house joined them.

Boy was intrigued when the Slytherins lined up according to year when they left the common room. It was militant in a way. That didn’t bother Boy. It was nice to be a part of a whole, even if he was in the back by himself. They were in rows of two, and directly in front of Boy was a stocky girl and one of the guys that had laughed when they realized that Boy was left without a bed in the proper dorms. The name he’d heard was… Theo? Leo? Something like that. It made no difference as it was clear that none of his year mates wanted anything to do with him, and he didn’t understand why.

What was it about him that made people instantly dislike/fear being near him? Did he really have some disease that he just didn’t notice? Were Ma’am and Sir right after all?

Boy took his place in the Great Hall, which was the same exact spot he'd used the night before. He slowly worked his way through the watery porridge, waiting for the course schedules to be passed out. He had been taken off of the list for the dumb classes, and he was excited to see what he would be learning!

The schedules were handed out a little while later, starting with the seventh years who were closest to the staff table.

When the professor got about a third of the way down, he stopped, staring at the topmost page with a combination of confusion and disbelief.

There was a hint of anger too.

Boy was curious about it, but stayed silent and still.

The professor's gaze went through all of the students and finally landed on Boy. The sheer loathing was enough to reduce Boy to a shaking mass.

If those looks were anything to go off of, he thought his assessment from last night was wrong. Doing well on that test was a mistake.

Eventually, the professor made his way to the first years. He handed out the sheets of parchment without emotion, until he reached Boy.

"Take. It." Professor Snape said venomously.

Gulping, Boy reached out a trembling hand to take the page.

He had potions first. With professor Snape. Oh.

"This is the most difficult year you will face, here at Hogwarts." Professor Snape said seriously. "Up to now, you have been under the impression that the previous years were a precedent for the entirety of your educational careers. This is a falsehood that I will take pleasure in destroying. This year," he continued, strolling through the aisles. "You will be pushed harder than ever before. This year, you will be tested on five full years worth of information on every course you have taken thus far. The results of which will determine your ability to continue on, or be removed from the courses in which you see fit to waste the time of the professors and students alike. These will be the grades that employers will see. These will be the basis on which you are judged for the rest of your collective lives.

"As it is the first day of classes, you will be tested on the summer reading. For our… new student, this is standard practice for the staff to be able to decide if you are worth teaching."

That stung. Boy was used to being belittled, but he honestly thought that the staff would be different.

Boy really did bring out the absolute worst in people. He just wished he knew why.

It was at that point, that Boy actually looked around. At first he was surprised at how much shorter he was than the rest of the class, but then he noted that some of them had facial hair and some had a lot more curves than eleven year olds.

He double checked his schedule. He was in the right place. The name was correct too. Why was he both the shortest as well as the youngest one in class?

In the end, Boy decided that if the professors didn’t like him, then that was fine. He would do well anyway.

The test was not as difficult as he thought it might be, and when he was finished, he was shocked to see that he was the only one. The rest of the class seemed to be struggling, or at least most of them were. A few, he noted, were tugging at their hair or fiddling with their quills. It was incredibly distracting, and Boy was glad he hadn’t noticed until now, otherwise he might not have finished. Legs shifting, fingers tapping, the constant sighing! How in the world did people get anything done with all this nonsense going on?

With nothing left to do, Boy capped his quill and inkpot, put them aside, waiting patiently and quietly. After about ten minutes of string at the wall, he took out his transfiguration textbook to read. By the time he’d finished rereading chapter three, he heard something and was surprised to see a student get up from their work table, test in hand and approach the professor’s desk.

When the student in question handed his scroll over, he packed up his belongings and left the room.

Were they supposed to leave like that? The professor didn’t stop him, and had even given a curt nod in response to the student’s actions.

Boy decided to wait, just in case. Maybe the student had to be excused at a certain time for something? Would he be laughed at for trying to do the same?

He waited another nine minutes, and was pleased to see another student do the same. With that in mind, he put away his textbook and took his own test up to the professor. His heart was beating rapidly in his chest, the closer he got. The professor was sure to hear it.

“You finished?” The professor sneered, keeping his voice low.

It didn’t make a difference, and Boy could feel all of the eyes on his back. He held out the scroll.

Professor Snape snatched it out of his weak grip and opened it immediately, rather than setting it aside as he’d done with the other two tests.

Boy started to turn around, but the professor had other ideas.

“You will not leave until you have been given explicit instructions to do so, Potter.” He snarled.

Rather than reply, Boy just stood there, feeling small. Why had the others been dismissed and not him? Why did he have to stay behind?

Professor Snape let the scroll roll back up and stared at him with narrowed eyes. There was something calculating in his hawk-like gaze that was a bit unsettling.

Someone else came up behind Boy and handed over his scroll.

“Miss Clearwater,” he said, just as quietly. “What is your next class?”

Her pale blonde eyebrows rose in question. “Arithmancy, sir.”

“As I thought.” He said. “Take him with you.”

“Yes, sir.” She replied immediately. “Come on, kid.”

Shocked, Boy followed.

“So,” she said lightly, as they turned the corner. “You’re the Boy Genius, huh?”

Boy didn’t respond.

“I can’t believe you weren’t sorted into Ravenclaw! We are known for our intelligence above all else. And, you, as an eleven year old, were placed into fifth year classes! To me, that screams Ravenclaw. How did you wind up with the Slytherins?”

He shrugged.

“Well, you’re obviously smart. I saw you finish your test long before anyone else, then read to pass the time. So, who are you anyway?”

“B- Harry,” he said, mentally kicking himself for almost using the wrong name.

“Well, Buh-Harry, I’m Penelope Clearwater, Ravenclaw Prefect. It’s nice to meet you.” She smiled at him.

He nodded once in return, thinking on everything he knew about her family. They were number twenty-seven of the sacred twenty-eight. While they still maintained their titles, much of their fortune was lost by Alonza Clearwater in 1865, who had a bit of a gambling problem. Before that, they were number nineteen in the listing. They were never at the risk of becoming last, as that was reserved for the Weasley family, who lost every cent over three simultaneous broken contracts to the Malfoy family in 1907, who were listed at third. The Weasley family could only rise in ranking if they settled the dispute with the Malfoy family and grew their fortune enough to surpass the next family, the Clearwaters. That or marry into a better ranked family.

That, he understood, would be more miraculous than Merlin himself rising from the grave and marrying a half dead runespoor on a dare.

“Alright,” she said, coming to a stop. “Here we are. There’s about fifteen minutes left before class lets out, so I’ll be back. Don’t leave unless you’re sure you won’t get lost, okay?”

Afraid of getting lost, Boy decided to stay put.

When the room finally cleared, Boy waited a full minute before entering.

On the board was a mathematical equation that didn’t look too challenging, beside a multiplication table that was anchored to the wall.

“Ah!” Came a voice. The woman, most likely the professor, was tall. She had dark hair and dark eyes with a mysterious glint. “Got the wrong room? What classroom are you looking for, boy?”

“This one, ma’am.” He said quietly.

“You’re in the OWL class?” She scoffed disbelievingly. “Are you even old enough to be taking any classes here? You look like you’re nine.”

He bit his lip.

“Hey, Buh-Harry.” Penelope said, walking into the room. “Want to sit with me? We don’t have to sit separately, since it’s an elective.”

Boy looked at the bubbly girl and shrugged. He didn’t mind. She was nice, even if she did keep calling him by that goofy name.

“Miss Clearwater?” The professor asked, confused.

“Oh!” Penelope gasped. “You weren’t at the Welcoming feast! This adorable little thing is some kind of prodigy, and there was some confusion at the sorting because he was registered as a fifth year instead of first. His name is Harry.”

Brow knit, the slightly scary woman went over something on her desk. “Harry, Harry, Harry… Harry Potter! Yes, there you are. Alright, go have a seat.”

By then, the room was half full, and many of them were staring.

Boy shrank in on himself and followed Penelope to an unoccupied table. Before long, they were joined by a redhead, who took the only remaining seat at their table.

“Hello, Penny.” The redhead said with a small smile.

She grinned, fluttering her eyelashes a bit. “Hi, Percy! Good summer?”

He harrumphed. “I’m just glad that I only have to put up with the twins in such close quarters for two more years. Those pranks are maddening. Brilliant, but maddening.”

Penelope giggled. “I’m telling them you said they were brilliant.”

“Please don’t!” He begged, eyes wide. “I’ll never hear the end of it!”

Boy watched their antics until the professor called everyone to attention.

Professor Vector, he recalled the timetable, gave a similar (but much less frightening) lecture on the importance of their OWL year. This class too, had only older students.

“As fifth years, you should know by now how we start every term.” She gracefully took her seat and pointed at the blackboard. “Get to it, and bring your scrolls up when you’re finished.”

It took Boy longer to copy the immense amount of information, than it did for him to solve it. Six thousand, three hundred and fifty-seven. He let the parchment roll itself up and he collected his things.

Professor Vector was pouring a second cup of tea from a hovering tea tray, when Boy offered her his work. She gaped at him. “Are you sure you don’t need more time?”

Boy nodded.

“Alright, then. I’ll see you on Thursday. You may go.”

As Boy headed out of the room, he wondered what he was supposed to do for the next hour, as the classes were ninety minutes long.

He stopped on the stairs when movement outside one of the tall, narrow windows caught his attention. There was a class outside, and they were flying. Boy had always wanted to fly. He wondered how it would feel, to soar above the treetops, where no one could reach him.

Having read about famous quidditch players, he understood the mechanics of flying, but had yet to try it out. It had sounded incredible. The way they described the weightlessness and the feeling of freedom… It was something he had wished desperately for.

Pushing that thought aside, he continued down the stairs. Coming across an empty classroom, Boy sat at a dusty table and pulled out his timetable. He wanted to memorize it while he had time. Today, he only had two more classes. Transfiguration and Charms.

He was worried. Here he was, in his first day of classes, and he still didn’t have a wand. Maybe the rest of the day would be review, like Potions and Arithmancy. That would be fine, but it didn’t help with tomorrow or the next day.

Closing his eyes, Boy began scratching his upper arms. What was he going to do? He was terrified of owling Sir, and he couldn’t tell a teacher that Sir had forgotten. He would be punished severely for that, since they would have to contact Sir about it. Besides, only third years could go to Hogsmeade, since thirteen was considered mature enough. Boy might be in the fifth year classes, but he was only eleven.

He scratched harder.

When he felt a warm trickle down both arms, he took a deep breath. What if he could fake it? Make something look like a wand until he could get a real one? After his ministry exam, he’d looked into wandless magic a bit more. It was odd that he could use it at all, and was considered advanced, even compared to adults. He didn’t believe that, but his examiners were surprised.

Calming considerably, he set out to find something he could use to make a fake wand. There was a pile of broken furniture in the corner, collecting dust. He snapped off a chair leg and focused his magic. He noticed the change almost immediately. The wood shrank in his hand, and became cylindrical. It was still rough when he opened his eyes, so he concentrated on making it look polished like Sir’s. He knew that all wands were different, so he wasn't too concerned with perfection.

In the end, Boy wound up with a black wand. It was just under ten inches long and it had a slight curve at the handle. Completely innocuous. Perfect.

For the rest of his short time, Boy practiced making it look like his magic was being funneled through the fake wand.

By the time he was reasonably well satisfied, it was time to go.

As luck would have it, transfiguration was also a review exam. This class was paired with Gryffindor. Percy was in this class, and made no mention of the spectacle in arithmancy, for which Boy was grateful.

Boy ended up finishing his exam first again. She didn't say to bring their tests up when they were done, so he simply took out his Charms text and began to read.

Boy jerked when someone tapped his shoulder. It was Professor McGonagall.

She was a scary one. Did they only hire terrifying professors on purpose?

"What are you doing?" She asked, lips pursed in a fine line.

He showed her the cover of his book.

"Why aren't you following instructions? This may be a review, but I assure you that it is quite important."

He nodded, handing her his finished parchment.

"Again?" One student called out. He was wearing a green and silver tie, like Boy's own.

"Quiet, Mr. Flint." She snapped, looking over Boy's test. As she skimmed, her eyebrows rose further and further into her hairline. "Very well, Mr. Potter, you're dismissed. Lunch will not be served until the end of class, so you may spend your free time as you wish."

Boy nodded and packed up his book and writing tools.

Was this how it was going to be for every class? Him not learning anything and constantly being dismissed early? That didn't seem like the most effective way to teach.

He sighed and wished for a map of the school so he wouldn't get lost.

Penelope had pointed out the transfiguration classroom earlier, which was the only reason he was able to make it on time. Why weren't there maps? He would check the library… if he knew where it was.

So he waited for the chime to get going, wanting to follow the crowd to the Great Hall.

It was a long wait, but eventually, he heard the chime.

Getting up, he stowed away his Charms text and brushed off his robes.

"Hey kid!" Someone called out.

The flood of students was headed toward the stairs, so Boy followed them mechanically.

When they reached the bottom, somebody grabbed his arm and pulled him aside.

Boy gasped, clawing at the hand.

"Knock it off!" The guy demanded, relinquishing his arm. "What the fuck is your deal, kid? You just waltz in and outdo everyone like some kind of fucking freak."

Boy stared at the ground, while cautiously stepping back.

"Stop it!" The guy spat. "I asked you a fucking question and I expect an answer!"

He shrugged, his eyes never leaving the flagstone.

"Hey!" He snarled, pulling Boy's hair upward. "I'm talking to you!"

"Ten points from Slytherin for manhandling a student, Flint!" Penelope called out angrily. "Get moving!"

Boy stayed still, in hopes of staying out of Flint's sightline (and reach).

"You okay, Buh-Harry?" She asked, nudging him with her elbow.

He nodded. "Are you going to keep calling me that?"

She pretended to think about it. "You know, I think I will. I like you Buh-Harry. Let's go get some lunch."

Keeping pace with someone so much taller was tricky. He had to jog a bit when he started falling behind.

"So, what class were you in?" She asked casually, slowing down a little.

"Transfiguration," he replied.

"Ugh, Ol' McGonagall can be a tough nut, can't she? How hard was the review?"

Before he could answer, she continued. "Why am I asking you, huh? You probably breezed right through it, didn't you?" She giggled.

"Are-are you teasing me?" He asked shyly.

"Of course I am!" She said, lightly pinching his cheek. "You're just so cute! I can't help myself! Will you ever forgive me?" She clutched at her heart in mocking.

In spite of himself, Boy smiled a tiny smile.

She gasped dramatically. "Buh-Harry, you really are human! I just saw you showing emotion!"

"Nope," he teased. "Not me."

Her eyes lit up. "And he has a sense of humor! If you were a few years older, you'd have to beat them off with a stick!"

Boy shook his head vehemently. He would never hurt someone like that!

"You're just too precious for words!" She made a silly face at him. "Okay, Buh-Harry, go get some lunch. I'll see you around."

To his surprise, he realized that he actually told his first joke and had a friendly chat! Wow.

It didn't even burst his bubble when the first year Slytherins started needling him. At least, not at first.

They were being dismissed when it happened.

Boy put his napkin on the table when an entire serving dish of thickened broth was flung at him.

He cried out as the hot liquid seeped into his clothes, burning his skin from the chest down to his lap.

As most of the students had already left, it was easy enough for a professor to get to him.

Some of the younger Slytherins were trying not to laugh as they were ushered out by the upper years, who walked past him with disgust.

Boy wouldn't cry. Not in front of people. He gritted his teeth against the pain.

"Do you require assistance to the infirmary, Potter?" Professor Snape asked in a level tone.

Boy shook his head, breathing slowly. "No, sir. Just a change of clothes."

"You will need burn salve to keep from blistering. The infirmary is on the-"

"It's okay, sir." Boy said quickly, letting out a strained breath.

Professor Snape rolled his eyes. "You are in obvious discomfort. I will escort you there myself, to ensure that you actually follow instructions."

Boy shuffled along in silence, still hunched over. He could have brewed a burn salve, at least in theory, but it would have taken much too long, and it was painful.

“Did you see who tipped the stew?”

Boy shook his head.

“I expect enough respect from my students to give verbal responses.” He said sternly.

“Sorry, sir!” He squeaked out. “I didn’t see anything.”

Professor Snape paused, eyeing Boy with suspicion. “Be that as it may, I trust that you will now become more aware of your surroundings, in efforts to prevent this sort of nonsense from recurring?”

“Yes, sir,” Boy said, flushing. How could he not have noticed something like that? The broth-er, the stew dish was not exactly small. It was humiliating.

Eventually, they reached their destination, and for once, Boy was happy that there were such long staircases at Ma’am and Sir’s house.

As they approached, the colossal wooden doors opened themselves.

“On the first day, Severus?” A short and slightly plump woman asked sympathetically. “Homesickness?”

Boy shook his head rapidly. “No, ma’am. May I have some burn salve, please?”

“Of course you can!” She proclaimed with a kind expression. “As my first customer of the year, I might have a sweet or two for you. Now, you just have a seat, and I’ll bring that out right away.”

Boy moved gingerly, becoming more and more aware of how rough the fabric felt on his raw skin.

“I will send word to Professor Flitwick regarding this mess. As a Slytherin, I expect you to see him in your spare time to get the makeup work. Do not wait until the next time you have his class. I will not tolerate laziness amongst my ranks.” That said, Professor Snape left, his robes billowing out dramatically.

Boy was surprised to note that he used _fluctus albas_ on his robes. He stifled a smirk.

“Alright, dear.” The nice older woman began cheerfully, carrying a small ceramic pot. “Where’s the affected area?”

Er… “I’ll take care of it.” He couldn’t let her see!

“Oh, the young ones are always so shy!” She said good-naturedly. “Go on and step behind the curtain. Remember to apply it liberally. You’ll stay here until that has a chance to do its job. About an hour or so, alright?”

He looked at her miserably. That would make him miss class almost entirely! “Does it have to stay on that long?” He asked softly, not wanting to invoke her wrath.

“Sorry, my dear.” She shrugged. “Get that on those burns quickly, and you can hop under the sheet.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said dejectedly. Pulling back the curtain, he shucked off his robe. His clothes were sticking to the red skin. Whimpering, he started unbuttoning his shirt from the bottom and working his way up. He hissed as the last button was undone. When he was fully nude, he took out a large glob of the bright orange paste.

The paste was gone by the time he reached his bellybutton. “Um,” he cleared his throat. “Ma’am?”

“Yes, dear?”

“Do you have any more salve?” He asked, biting his lip.

“What?!” She half-shrieked. “How badly were you burned?! I’m coming in there-”

“No, it’s okay!” He interrupted. “It’s not that bad, just… it covers a fair amount of skin.” Maybe he could just thin out the layer he had on to cover all of it. Then it might not work as well. The burns along his arms weren’t that bad, since he had the extra layer of protection from his robes, so he could sacrifice some from there.

Just as he reached up to scrape some of it off, another jar of salve was pushed through a small gap in the curtain.

“Thank you, ma’am.”

When he was thoroughly coated in the obnoxiously colored paste, he slipped into the bed.

Oh, wow. It was so comfortable! Were all beds like this? The bed in his attic was thin and lumpy, but this was as soft as a cloud! And there was even a pillow! Oh, wow. He couldn’t recall ever being so comfy in his whole life!

Softly spoken words woke Boy gently.

“Poor thing fell asleep,” the woman was whispering.

“So, why didn’t you wake him?” That was Professor Snape’s unmistakable voice. He, too, was keeping his voice down. “There was no medical reason to let him sleep the day away.”

“Oh, fooey! He had already missed his last class of the day, so there was no harm in letting the boy have a lie-in.”

“No, of course not,” came the sarcastic drawl.

“Before I let myself forget again, I didn’t catch his name. I need it for my records.”

“Harry Potter.” The surname was spat with distaste.

“Potter?” Her tone was incredulous. “I thought Jamie was an only child?”

“I’m assuming he is a cousin.”

Ouch.

“No, sir.” Boy said, finally plucking up some courage. It wasn’t that hard, considering the curtain between them. “We’re twins.”

“Since when did the Potter’s have twins?” She asked, sounding shocked.

“Presumably,” the professor scoffed. “For the past eleven years.”

“Oh, Severus!” She said, exasperated. “Don’t be difficult. I was simply surprised.”

“Sorry to interrupt,” Boy said a little louder. “But how am I supposed to leave? My clothes are dirty.”

There was a scoff. That was probably the professor.

A moment later, Boy’s clothes were pushed through the curtain gap.

“Cleaning charms.”

“Thank you, sir.” Boy said, taking the bundle. He was getting better with this whole talking-to-people thing.

It was slow going, but he would get used to it.

Casting a cleaning charm on himself, Boy made his way to the Charms classroom. The woman in the infirmary gave him directions and introduced herself as Madam Pomfrey.

He knocked on the partially open door. “Hello?”

“Come in!” Came a cheerful call.

Boy poked his head in before walking inside. “Hello, are you Professor Flitwick?”

A man, close to Boy in height, was sitting at a low desk, grading papers. “I am indeed! I already know who you are. You’ve caused quite the stir among the staff.”

“I’m sorry.” Why was the staff upset? “I’ve only come about the classwork I’ve missed, then I’ll be on my way.”

“Why in Merlin’s name would you be sorry?” The short man asked, bewildered. “Having such a gifted student in these old Halls is rather exciting.”

“Oh,” was all Boy could think of. “Er, well, could I possibly take the review exam? I… I know it’s a bit late, but I sort of… well, I fell asleep in the infirmary.”

Professor Flitwick chuckled. “Have a seat. There’s only an hour or so before curfew. From what I’ve heard, you’ll likely finish early, but if you would rather take it with the full ninety minutes, I’m sure we can come up with a good time.”

“I’ll take it now, sir.” Boy said quickly. He had to do well, and falling behind on the first day was not the way to go about it. If he couldn’t finish by curfew, he’d beg for another chance.

The professor happily gave Boy the test as well as a quill and ink. “Go on, then. Good luck!”

Thirty-eight minutes later, he let the parchment roll back up on itself.

“I see what they mean,” he muttered to himself. Professor Flitwick blinked, snapping himself out of it. “I must say, Mr. Potter, I am curious to see the results, as I imagine you are. If you’d like to wait, I can have this marked before curfew.”

Boy sat up straighter. “Thank you, sir.”

He waited patiently, folding his hands in his lap.

Eventually, the professor cleared his throat. “Mr. Potter?”

Boy looked up.

“I’ve finished grading your review. If you would like to earn a few bonus points, you could cast two or three of those charms that were mentioned on the test.” He said, watching Boy with glee.

“Yes, sir. Did… did I do that badly?” It had to be bad if he was offering Boy a way to boost his score.

“Not at all!” The professor hastened to assure him. “I happen to offer quite a bit of extra credit throughout the year. For some, it helps with that last little boost to get the grades they want. For others, it can be used as a reference on future employment applications. It is also used to further one’s chances of obtaining an apprenticeship for a Mastery.”

“Oh!” Boy was shocked. “I’d be happy to, sir.”

Within minutes, Boy went on his merry way, with a perfect score and bonus points on top of it.

That night, alone in his broom cupboard, Boy smiled brightly for the first time.


	4. Chapter 4

It wasn’t until the end of September that Boy had a chance to actually meet his brother again.

He was sitting in the library with Penelope, who insisted that he call her Penny, going over their homework for Arithmancy. In that time, he found out that Penny was very affectionate. Anytime they weren’t in class, she pinched his cheeks (lightly), ruffled his hair, or had her arm around his shoulders.

“Alright, Buh-Harry,” she said in a mock-stern voice. “What book did you use for that last part? That was not in the class book.”

He shook his head, taking an old, dusty book out of his robes-turned-knapsack. “What do I get out of it?” He wiggled the text just out of her reach.

She put on an overly exaggerated pout. “Pretty pretty please? I have some of Honeydukes finest.”

Narrowing his eyes, he pretended to think it over. “A whole bar?” The first time he’d ever had chocolate was about two weeks ago. Penny had been studying and occasionally slipping her hand into her pocket, then bringing it up to her mouth so fast that Boy was left confused. When he’d asked what she was doing, she slipped a little square of it into his hand, with a warning not to let the librarian see it. It was the most incredible thing he’d ever tasted.

“Half,” she declared.

He handed over the book. “Deal.”

“Come on, guys,” a familiar voice was saying, too loudly for library etiquette. “Over here is free.”

Boy looked up to see Jamie and a few Gryffindors swaggering over to a nearby table. Well, that wasn’t fair. Jamie was the only one swaggering.

The others seemed to be basking in his presence.

“I’m so sorry that you’re related to him,” Penny whispered. “He’s such a little prat.”

Boy could only shrug. He didn’t know either way, having never spent any time with his twin, but he couldn’t tell her that. The instant Boy said anything negative about the Potter family, he knew that Jamie would write to Sir. That couldn’t happen. He was learning how to be normal, and it was going well. It was something he was not willing to jeopardize.

When the truth about his name came out, he started being hounded on all sides, especially by his housemates. If anything about the Potters was revealed, he would be in serious trouble.

“Chapter twenty-six,” he told her. “That’s where I got it. There’s a lot more information, but I didn’t use it because I’d be over the length limit.”

“You are an absolute gem!” She squealed, ruffling his hair again. “Even if you are robbing my choco stash.”

“I could be persuaded to say a third instead… if you have my favorite.” He grinned impishly.

She giggled. “I can deal with that, Buh-Harry. You’re the only reason I get that anyway. How can you stand it? Raspberry, coconut and caramel do not belong together!”

He leaned in conspiratorially. “Yes, they do.” In truth, he didn’t mind taking a smaller amount. Never having gotten sweets before, he still hadn’t found a chocolate he didn’t like, but only in small doses. That was a lesson he’d learned the hard way. As the bars were pretty large, one third of one would last him almost a week if he had two squares per day, which was plenty for him. He liked to have them after breakfast and lunch. Letting them melt on his tongue, he was able to savor the taste for quite a while.

“Hey, you!” Jamie called out in a stage whisper.

Both Penny and Boy turned to face the rowdy table of lions. “Yes?” They asked together.

“Not you, slimy snake!” A red haired boy sneered. “Her!”

Brows raised, they stared.

“What do you want?” She asked pointedly, not liking the tone of the redhead. “I’m studying, as you should be.”

“Aww, don’t be like that.” Jamie said, ruffling his hair in a way that showed off the scar that made him famous. “I just wanted to ask if you had a spare quill.”

“Nope,” she replied, popping the ‘p’. “Sorry.”

Boy knew she was lying. Penny always carried around at least three quills at a time, just in case one broke or was misplaced.

“Alright, then,” he said. “Well, what about you, _snake_? Oh, it’s you.” His nose crinkled in disgust.

“Hi, Jamie.” Boy said casually. He really did want to get close to his brother, but it was clear that Jamie didn’t want the same.

Jamie grunted in response.

“So do you have a quill or not?” The redhead demanded.

Boy shook his head, but pointed his ‘wand’ at a piece of parchment that he’d accidentally spilled ink on. With an unnecessary flick of his fake wand, he turned the tight scroll into a standard brown quill. “Here.”

“No thanks,” Jamie scoffed. “I’ll go find one that isn’t diseased.”

Closing his eyes, Boy sighed.

Penny gasped. “Five points from Gryffindor for insulting a student. Five points to Slytherin for being helpful, even if it was met with hostility.”

"You didn't have to do that," Boy said with a sigh.

"Sure I did," she replied flippantly. "I'm a prefect, and that comes with certain responsibilities. The point system is a big part of it. If I didn't have to report my reasons, I'd have given the little weeny a detention."

Boy blinked, jaw hanging. Was this what it was like to have a friend?

"Are we friends?" He blurted out, astonished and horrified by his bluntness.

Her brows rose. She had a curious look about her. "Of course we are, Harry. How could I not adore you?"

She called him Harry. She must be serious.

Boy smiled warmly at his first ever friend. "Just checking."

"Okay," she said with a shrug. "Now show me what pages you didn’t use."

Despite how rudely Jamie had behaved the other day, Boy couldn't give up hope that they could be close. It might be far-fetched for now, but maybe that would change if they got to spend some time together. The only question was how.

As it turned out, that hurdle was overcome for him.

The day that flying classes were held, Boy had somehow been added to the roster, even though he was a fifth year and that class was for first years.

It didn't bother him in the slightest. In fact, he was incredibly excited. It was as good an excuse as any to see his twin and meet some people his own age. He was enjoying his courses, but all of his classmates were fifteen, many were closer to sixteen. Aside from their homework, which he did with Penny exclusively, they had absolutely nothing in common.

Flying might be what creates a bridge between him and them. Plus, the chance to fly for the first time was incredibly thrilling. He'd been fantasizing about it since he saw Sir and Jamie fly past his attic window when he was somewhere around five or six.

Jamie was being held tightly around the middle, squealing with delight, while Sir was urging the broom faster and higher.

In that moment, Boy understood wanting. It was strange. He wasn't jealous of Jamie, but he wanted to share that with his brother. He didn't want Jamie to be left out. He still didn't.

Boy was confused. Really really confused. It made no sense. Yes, he realized that the first year restrictions might not apply to him, but this? It doesn’t make any sense.

“Buh-Harry!” Penny practically shouted, waving him over to where she and Percy were standing on the third floor.

“Penelope,” Percy said in a tone, suggesting weariness. “We are prefects, not first years. You can’t shout in the corridors.”

She ignored him in favor of swinging Boy around in circles. When she put him down, she grinned widely. “How did you do it? I couldn’t believe it! This is so exciting, Buh-Harry!”

Boy, who was only a little bit dizzy, shrugged his shoulders. “I’m not entirely sure how it happened,” he said honestly. It had been just over a month of being in the public for Boy to say he was proud of his newfound ability to hold conversation.

“Aww,” she said, smirking. “Percy, I think he’s still in shock.”

“Maybe a bit,” Boy replied, not embarrassed at all. “Why do you think they put me on the team?”

Percy cleared his throat importantly. “If my sloth of a brother is correct, you flew admirably well in class, though he may have hurt himself in admitting it.”

Boy stared at him like he had two heads. “Well, I mean, I didn’t crash…” He didn’t mean for it to sound like a question but, oh well. “It really wasn’t all that impressive. It was probably just beginners luck.”

“Most likely.” Percy said flippantly, then looked at Penny. “Penelope, we have a prefects meeting.”

She sighed, calming her earlier excitement, hesitated, then pulled Boy into another tight hug. “Congratulations, Buh-Harry. You’ll do great!”

Boy smiled, waving them away. “Go on, Penny. Don’t let Percy be late.” He was getting used to smiling. It was a good feeling.

Maybe now that he was on the house team, he would be allowed into the dorms! He’d get to sleep on a bed! Maybe.

Headed off toward Charms, Boy was startled when he was suddenly slammed sideways into a door.

Shaking off the fog his head was currently stuck in, Boy looked around. For some strange reason, he thought he heard muffled barking, and was wondering how a student would be punished for bringing an unauthorized pet to the school.

“You’re so bloody special, aren’t you?” Jamie sneered at the crumpled figure of Boy.

“Special?” Boy asked lamely. “What?” He wasn’t special. Jamie was special. Why would Jamie think otherwise?

“I hope you have fun on those shite school brooms, because even if you were allowed to have one, which you aren’t, _my_ dad would never waste money on some Slytherin freak!”

The way he spat the words was honestly shocking to Boy. Yes, logically he knew how arrogant his twin was since they’d entered school, but he’d never been that way before, had he?

Boy didn’t reply, not having a clue what to say.

Jamie took two large steps toward Boy, and was practically on top of him. He grabbed Boy by the hair and twisted his fist, which wasn’t difficult as his hair was shoulder length.

Without a thought, Boy followed the direction of the hand currently jerking him around. He could feel some of it ripping out at the roots, but was determined not to cry out. It didn’t stop his facial expressions from betraying his pain though. Sir had done this often enough, that he was trained to follow the hand rather than fight back. The only reason his hair was this short was because the day of the ministry testing, Sir grabbed his hair in chunks and used severing charms. Before that day, it had never been cut and was down to his knees.

“Get up!” Jamie snarled, changing his grip.

Now Boy was close enough to his brother to feel the hot breath on his face.

“Look at me!”

Boy opened his eyes obediently and gasped. The pure, unadulterated hatred on his brother’s face was terrifying. Boy was pulled back into a memory of Sir from his attic.

_Sir had been drinking again. Boy closed his eyes in resigned sadness. He knew what was coming._

_Before he even had a chance to do anything, Sir was upon him, landing blow after blow. Sometimes the punches would turn into vicious kicks._

_All the while, Boy was willing himself into unconsciousness to no avail. Why did they hate him so? Why was Sir the only person who had ever come up to his attic? Why come up at all?_

_He tried desperately to ignore the vitriol Sir was spouting, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. It mingled with the physical pain, until Boy could no longer tell the difference. Inside, outside, it all hurt._

Jamie’s punches and kicks didn’t hurt nearly as bad as Sir’s, but Sir usually stopped after a few minutes. Jamie wasn’t stopping yet.

At least nothing was broken, Boy thought as Jamie finally let him drop to the floor.

Panting, Boy lay completely still.

“Don’t want to join the team now, do you?” Jamie taunted, landing one final kick to Boy’s side.

Why would that keep him from wanting to play? The bruises would fade in two days with a bruise balm.

Deciding to ignore the odd methods of his brother, Boy slowly got up from the floor and picked up his dropped bag. He had Charms class.

Keeping his head down was easy enough. His hair was at the right length to hide his face, and no one was looking at him anyway, so it was fine.  
Boy snuck off to an abandoned classroom and set up his cauldron. He had to get the bruise balm made and applied before someone managed to get a look at his face. The ones on his arms, chest and back weren't really cause for concern, as no one could see them.

That was the only nice part of not being allowed in the dorms. Since he wasn't able to come and go from his broom cupboard without being seen during the daytime, he began sneaking into the showers in the middle of the night. It was useful, especially since it gave him something to do besides stare at the walls at three or four am.

Finally alone, Boy pulled his hair up into a sloppy bun to keep it out of his eyes. Any obstructions to his vision was dangerous when it came to brewing. If a lock of hair fell in, covered the number of stirs, or something equally important, it could become an explosive mistake. He preferred to pull his hair up.

Two hours later, Boy was blessedly finished with the finicky potion. Scooping a small glob of the clear paste, he used a conjured mirror to make sure every centimeter of the bruises were covered. By the end of the day, they would be at the sickly yellowish green stage and by tomorrow afternoon, they should be completely gone. No one had to know.

He considered using more of it on the rest of his bruises, but decided that it might be a better idea to hold onto the remaining paste in case something else happened.

With the way things had gone so far in his short academic career, it wasn't exactly improbable. Having it on hand was just practical.

As it turned out, his housemates were much less than pleased that the seeker position was handed to a scrawny little eleven year old. They were livid, especially the three hopefuls that had been training over the summer for the spot. Now that they had no chance at all to prove themselves, they seemed to decide that they would take out their aggressions on the reason they no longer had a chance.

If Boy had thought that being drafted to the team was a good thing, he was certainly disillusioned now.

The bruise balm only lasted two weeks. The soothing paste made from aloe plants primarily, was gone inside nine days.

Nearly all of the books on healing spells and potions were checked out of the library.

He hoped that they wouldn't be missed by anyone wanting to study healing.

Hexes and curses and jinxes were becoming a large part of his daily schedule. It got to the point of waking up at four thirty am to avoid everyone in the common room. They were left completely unattended until they got to the Great Hall, which wasn't until seven.

Boy didn't think that was very intelligent, but it helped him in a way. If there was a professor in the common room, they would see that he was sleeping in the broom cupboard. No one wanted that, least of all him.

The only time he wasn't being harassed by his fellow Slytherins was in class. That time was spent either with Penny or entirely alone.

Percy was the closest he came to having a second friend, and even he was little more than an acquaintance.

It was fine. He was doing very well in all of his classes and even though he appeared to be the only target for the beaters on the House team, he loved being out flying nearly every evening.

Despite their best efforts, Boy was in heaven on a broom. Sure he got more bludgers pelted in his direction than the rest of the team combined, but Boy was actually appreciative. As strange as it might be, having those bludgers after him constantly was a great way to improve his flying skills. Bobbing, weaving, flipping and dodging while keeping an eye out for the tiny winged ball was doing wonders for his agility.

If his teammates knew how he felt about their on-field antics, they'd probably make sure he could only practice by himself in the middle of the night… then report him for being out after curfew.

"Oh, go on Buh-Harry," Penny urged. "You've got to have more than tea! It's your first match! Against your prat brother's house no less. You can't lose. I won't allow it!"

His brow lifted. "Why do you want me to beat your boyfriend's house so badly?"

She choked on air. "What?! That tosspot is not my boyfriend!"

Boy switched from teasing to concern in an instant. "What happened, Penny?"

"You're just too young to be so perceptive." She replied with a sad sigh. "We may have had a row. Doesn't matter. You just need to obliterate Gryffindor and all will be right in my world."

Boy rolled his eyes. "I'm not promising anything, but I'll do my best. For you."

Smiling now, she ruffled his hair. "I knew I could count on my little Buh-Harry."

"Alright already," he snorted. "Take my mind off the match. What was your row about?"

"Oh, sure, skip over your problems to tackle mine." She scoffed. "I just can't pry him away from his books! It makes no sense! He's always been at the top of the class, so he should be able to make a little time for m… for friends."

He kind of felt bad for her. Something he'd read a few years ago was brought to mind. One of his near captures during the semi-frequent library trips he'd made left him with a book he hadn't meant to grab. It was a mis-shelved romance novel most likely belonging to Ma'am. In it, there was a woman who felt as though she were being neglected by a potential lover. That woman, Emmalyn, decided to attract her attention by giving herself a new look.

At the time-who was he kidding? He still didn't understand the logic, but it had worked for Emmalyn.

"I have an idea," he said mischievously. "There's still another hour till the match. We need to go to your dorm for a bit."

"Buh-Harry, you're an eleven year old boy, not to mention a Slytherin. I can't let you into Ravenclaw tower!"

He let his head fall dramatically on her shoulder. "How about this? If I can get your dormmates to agree, you let me help you. Deal?"

Reluctantly, she acquiesced, pointing out the two girls in her dorm.

Boy was nervous. He couldn't remember ever starting a conversation with someone. If spoken to first, he was having less and less trouble, but he was still learning.

"Hi, I'm Harry. You're Penny's dormmates, aren't you? Olive and Amelia?"

The two girls in question looked at him, brows knit.

"Yeah...?" One said curiously. She was pale and had a light dusting of freckles beneath her startling silvery eyes. Her hair was long, blonde and wavy.

Her companion was curvier and taller, and she had a lovely mocha complexion and purple eyes. There were only three families he could recall hearing about that carried that particular trait. One was a first year Slytherin, Zabini.

He went over his plan quickly, only stammering a few times.

"Oh," the girl, Olive said, her eyes huge. "Penelope's right. He's so adorable! Come on, Amelia! Let's see what he can do!"

"Fine, fine." She relented. "But we reserve the right to fix it if you mess her up. Okay?"

He nodded, grinning.

Forty-one minutes later, Boy transfigured a broken quill nib into a hair clip with a tiny raven. That in place, he stood. "Okay, quickly quickly. I've got to get to the pitch. Let's go."

Olive and Amelia were left gawking.

"Wait!" Penny half yelled. "I can't go down there yet! I haven't even seen-"

"Don't care!" Boy said hurriedly. "No time."

"You're gorgeous, Penelope," Olive said with astonishment.

Penny's jaw dropped. "Is it too much?" She asked, bringing her hands up to pat her hair.

Boy swatted them away impatiently. "You're fantastic. Can we go now?"

Before he knew it, Boy was outfitted in his green and black quidditch robes and various padding. He breathed slowly, trying desperately not to be ill.

The captain was speaking, but Boy was unable to concentrate on the words. Slytherin cunning would ensure victory or some other nonsense. Boy just wanted to make it through the game alive. He almost didn't care who won. Almost.

Boy landed heavily, rolling off his broom. There was no noise. No cheers, no boos, nothing.

He sat up, still wondering what had happened. Something tickled his hand. It was a little gold wing. He had the snitch. Merlin, he caught the snitch! They won! They won!

480-360 Slytherin wins!

The announcement snapped the crowd out of its stupor. They went mental. Screaming, clapping, some booing, but mostly cheering.

He had really done it! He won the game! And he didn't die! Well, it was a very near thing, but somehow the broom stabilized before it bucked him off. Who cares? He won!

Seeing the team flipping out together didn't even bother him, despite the fact that he was still on the ground about thirty meters away. He won!

He won! Boy won something!

He sat there for a while. Eventually the cheers died down. The Slytherins left the pitch. The Gryffindors were grumbling as they shuffled their way to the locker rooms. The spectators filed down from the elevated stands.

"HARRY! HARRY, YOU DID IT!"

Boy looked to his right to see Penny and her dormmates running his way, sporting green pennants and flushed faces.

When they drew closer, he stood. Okay, that hurt. "I didn't imagine it, then? I really did win?"

They burst out laughing.

Penny wrapped him in a tight hug. "Gods! I knew you had to have some kind of talent to be let on the team, but that was incredible, Buh-Harry!"

His cheeks hurt. Had he been smiling that long? It was a wonderful feeling and he wanted to hold onto it for as long as possible.

The next thing he knew, Boy was being lifted under the armpits and deposited on Olive's back. He grabbed her shoulders in surprise. "What-?"

"You've been limping." Amelia said, as if that was an explanation. "And you're small enough to be carried up to the infirmary."

"I don't need the infirmary. I know a fair amount of healing magic." Merlin knew he'd gotten an education in that.

"In the famous words of Buh-Harry Potter, 'don't care!'" Penny said pompously.

Madam Pomfrey had him fixed up pretty quickly, which didn’t surprise him, though she did put him on bedrest until the next morning. Boy was worried. He didn’t know how long the Slytherins would be up celebrating. It was a good thing it was only Saturday, because he might not get to bed until very late, as he had to wait for the common room to be completely cleared.

Penny and her friends waited for him to finish up, then swooped him onto Amelia’s back to get down all those stairs.

He had tried to protest, but they ignored him, saying how ‘bedrest’ didn’t mean ‘walk down like a dozen flights of stairs’.

“But you all have to go right back up!” He tried. “It’s entirely redundant!”

“Oh, it is not,” Olivia said, rolling her gray eyes. “Dinner is being served in an hour, so we’re just going to the library until then. Besides, Penelope wants to see if Percy’s there.”

Boy stifled a giggle at the teasing tone. “We can all go to the library, then. I’d never get any rest with the partying that’s most likely going on in the common room anyway.”

“Okay,” Amelia said. “Saves my back-”

“I told you I can walk!” Boy didn’t whine. Absolutely not.

“Calm down, Buh-Harry. It was a joke.” Amelia stopped to wiggle him around for no apparent reason. “See? Light as an owl feather.”

He groaned, letting his head fall to her shoulder.

“Okay, I have to know,” Olive began, looking Boy and Penelope over. “Why the weird nickname? I mean, it’s cute and all, but I don’t get it.”

Boy tried to reach out to cover Penny’s mouth, but she was too far away, and Amelia, noticing this, intentionally sidestepped to further the distance.

Penny smirked. “When I met this this awkward little eleven year old, he was being picked on by Professor Snape-”

“But he’s a Slytherin!” Olive blurted. “Snape always favors his own.”

“I’m also the only eleven year old to be put straight into fifth year.” Boy muttered grumpily.

“So anyway!” Penny cut in. “I introduced myself, and he was blushing and stuttering. When he introduced himself, I don’t know what he was trying to say, but it came out as Buh-Harry. It was so adorable! I couldn’t help myself!”

“Oh, he does blush!” Olive cooed. “I wish I had a camera.”

Boy put his head back down as they giggled. He knew they weren’t being mean, just teasing, so it was okay.

“Alright, Buh-Harry,” Amelia said quietly as they entered the library. “You know how it’s a Hogsmeade weekend?”

“Mm-hmm,” Boy hummed.

“Well, I have a date tomorrow morning around noon. Can you work your magic on me, like you did with Penelope? Please? It’s my first date, and I want to look my best.”

Boy flushed again, but turned to Penny as he was finally put down. “By the way,” he whispered. “How did that go?”

“Put it this way, cutie.” Olive grinned. “Percy didn’t realize his team had lost until one of his housemates tripped over him, trying to follow his friends out of the stadium.”

This time, it was Penny who turned red.

Boy covered his mouth to keep from laughing. It took him a minute to calm down. “Alright, so, Amelia… what do you need me to do?” He was eyeing her features already, figuring out different ways to highlight her eyes. He was a bit nervous though. The only reason he’d known what to do with Penny's hair was because his own hair was similar, at least, it was before Sir had chopped it all off. Amelia’s was very different, given the fact that she was black.

“Buh-Harry!” Penny hissed chidingly. “You’re a Slytherin! You should have figured out by now that if you have something that someone wants, you make a trade.”

Boy snorted.

“Okay, not cool, Penelope,” Amelia whined. “Besides, you didn’t pay him!”

“That’s because it was his idea, not mine.” She replied with faux arrogance. “And we were friends for more than a couple of hours.”

Amelia groaned. “Fine, fair is fair. What do you want in exchange?”

“I don’t think the Potter’s are very into sweets,” Penelope said when Boy didn’t respond. “I don’t think poor little Buh-Harry had ever tried chocolate before we met.”

Their eyes widened in surprise.

“Seriously?” Olive asked.

Boy nodded.

“That explains why the Weeny-who-lived is always cramming sweets in his gob.” Amelia added.

Boy blinked. Did no one like his brother? Penny had made her dislike clear, but Amelia too? “Why do you all seem to dislike Jamie so much?”

“Sorry,” they said together sheepishly.

Olive just shrugged. “Honestly, I can’t figure out how you two are even related. He’s so bloody arrogant, while you’re shy. He’s a bit of a bully, while you’re sweet. I think the only thing you two have in common is Snape’s ire, even though you’re actually intelligent.”

Penny and Amelia nodded in agreement.

“Okay, how about this?” Amelia asked. “My date isn’t until noon, so you can come with me early to pick something from Honeydukes.”

“I’m not allowed in Hogsmeade.” Boy said.

“Why?” Olive asked. “You’re a fifth year. It’s for third through seventh years.”

Boy shrugged. “I didn’t know I was going to be a fifth year until the Headmaster mentioned it after I wasn’t called to be sorted.”

"So you never got the consent form." Amelia finished for him.

"Nope," he shook his head.

The girls shared a look, but didn't say anything.

For the next half hour or so, Boy spent some time getting to know the two girls he'd introduced himself to, exceedingly glad that he'd done so.

By the time they headed for the Great Hall, he found himself two new friends.

"Come on, Buh-Harry," Amelia urged. "Come sit with the Ravens."

He hesitated. "Is that allowed?"

"Miss Prefect?" Olive prompted.

"Not against the rules, Buh-Harry. I promise." Penny assured him with a wink.

In the Great Hall, the Slytherins were still on their high from the big win. The Gryffindors were blessedly quiet, though everyone knew it would only last until the typically rowdy group got over their loss.

Boy decided to enjoy the quiet while he could. Despite being one table closer to the 'Gryphs' as his new friends called them, Boy barely heard them.

For the next fifteen minutes, Boy had his first fun meal. He talked and joked and squared away his deal with Amelia. She was going to get Boy a refillable gift certificate for Hogsmeade, figuring that they would ask for his help again at some point. She also mentioned that because of how the certificate worked, he would be able to use it in any shop in the little square.

Boy was thrilled at the prospect of having money to spend when he was eventually allowed to go. Penny offered to get catalogs for the shops, so that she could purchase what he wanted with his certificate until then. Boy was excited to shop, especially since they said that some of their friends might be interested in what they were dubbing as his 'makeover business'.

Honestly, he thought they were more excited about it than he was. They were making plans. Boy just thought it was kind of fun. He had always liked playing with his own hair, so the idea of getting paid to play with hair was great.

A hand on his shoulder startled him.

Boy whipped around to see who grabbed him. "Hello, Headmaster." He greeted, hating the unexpected grip.

"Harry," he said kindly. "I think it's time for you to join your house."

The Headmaster spoke just loudly enough to attract a fair amount of attention.

"Pe-" he'd nearly mentioned Penny. "I didn't think it was against the rules, sir."

"No, it isn't." The Headmaster agreed. "Though there is a lot to be said for organization."

"Sir?" Boy didn't understand.

"It is quite easy to lose track of the students if they are not where they are supposed to be. With so many to look after, it would be prudent to assist in making the task easier, would it not?"

Boy sighed. "Yes, sir." He put down his goblet and stood, shoulders slumped.

"I'm sure your teammates would like to celebrate today's victory with you." The man said cheerfully, patting his shoulder heavily. "It was, after all, a particularly good catch, if I do say so myself."

At that, several of the Ravenclaws clapped, along with some of the more polite Hufflepuffs. Gryffindors mostly just glared, and the Slytherins didn't make a sound.

Dejectedly, Boy made his way to the very end of the Slytherin table. Since he'd already eaten most of his meal, he decided not to grab anything. The pumpkin tarts looked nice, but he just wasn't in the mood.

He wasn't sure what to think about being separated from his new friends. The reasoning behind it was… well, stupid. Obviously the man knew where he was, given the fact that he made Boy move. How was that making anyone's job harder? He'd only been at the very next table!

Penny's eyes narrowed. She stood, followed almost immediately by Amelia and Olive. As one, they moved to the far end of their own table, after asking some of the others to scoot down of course.

They continued to chat, but now there was an underlying tension that seemed to stunt the conversation.

Boy was unhappy with the way his day had turned out. He was ushered down to the dungeons with the rest of his housemates and had to spend several hours reading in the obnoxiously loud common room.

He was absolutely exhausted, but no one seemed to want to go to their rooms! The first years started heading for bed around midnight. The second and third years began tapering off a little while later. Apparently the rest of the students were planning on seeing dawn.

All he wanted to do was _Go To Bed_! He didn't want to bother anyone, do anything insidious, break anything, just sleep! Was it really too much to ask?

Four thirty-two. That's what time the last couple went to bed. Four thirty-two. He had to meet Amelia around nine to start in on her long hair if he was going to have time to do what he'd planned.

He groaned, realizing that he still had to be the first person awake to avoid detection.

Giving up on sleep completely, he hopped into the shower, deliberately making it a little too cold to be comfortable to keep himself awake.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Possible TW for child abuse (not super graphic, but its clearly there).  
> Alright guys, are you ready to burn James Potter Senior at the stake? If not, you're about to be.

Boy trudged to the Great Hall as soon as the doors opened, like every morning, at seven am. He was only beaten by professors Sprout and Flitwick. The Hall was otherwise empty. He didn't care. He just wanted to stay awake. The bone-deep ache was uncomfortable, but only made his need to lie down all the more persistent. Sunday's were supposed to be lazy.

"Mr. Potter."

Boy jumped, spilling his tea. "Sorry, Professor Flitwick," he said, vanishing the mess. "How are you this morning?"

"A sight better than yourself, I'd wager." He winked. "I thought I would let you know that the Headmaster doesn't join us for breakfast on Sundays."

It took Boy a second to figure out what the man was saying. His eyes widened. "Thank you for letting me know, sir."

The professor wished him a good day and went back to the staff table.

Boy's new friends took forever to show up. It was a little after eight when he finally saw them come in.

Now that there were more people about, Boy easily slipped over to the Ravenclaw table. He quickly explained what the charms professor said, and they gave him hugs and ruffled hair for his troubles.

Penny eyed him up. "You look awful."

"Gee, thanks. It's lovely to see you too." He snapped, then sighed. "Sorry."

"What time did you finally get to sleep?" Amelia asked, concern lacing her tone.

"I'll let you know." He deadpanned, tugging the teapot closer.

"Poor thing," Olive said, tugging him close to cuddle. "You just sit here and snuggle up with me till you have to get up."

"M'kay," he yawned cutely. "But I'm not a teddy."

There were a few giggles.

"Nope," Olive confirmed, running her fingers through his hair. "You're a little kitten."

Boy pouted, but made no move to escape her cuddles. "'M not a kitten."

Olive began scratching his scalp gently and Boy turned to goo.

"Oh," Amelia said seriously. "Definitely not a little kitten. Only big, ferocious beasts act like that with head scratchies."

"Yup." Penny agreed, just as teasing. "That's him alright! Big scary panther. Hands down. I'm terrified just being near him."

Boy stuck his tongue out at them.

"Even panthers start out as kittens." Olive pointed out, never slowing her ministrations. "Cute, fluffy little kittens."

Sighing, Boy rolled his eyes. Penny alone was bad enough with all of the cutseyness, but all of them together? He sighed again.

"How'd you get so good at this, Buh-Harry?" Amelia asked, flipping absently through a copy of Witch Weekly.

Boy tightened the twist he was working on before answering. "I used to keep my hair long and I liked playing with it. It was really long, but it was cut for school. I miss it."

"How long was it?" She asked. "I can't quite picture it."

He tapped his knee, as he held a few pins in his teeth.

"It was not down to your knees!" She gasped in disbelief.

"Mmhmm," he hummed, not wanting to accidentally drop the pins.

For the next half hour, Boy continued to twist and pin Amelia's hair before moving on to her makeup. That, he was obviously less familiar with, but some of the books in Sir and Ma'am's library had pictures of lots of different kinds of people from all sorts of cultures. He had been fascinated by differences based on their nationalities.

For Amelia, he used various shades of golds and browns. He didn't want to make her look silly, so he kept her makeup to a minimum.

When he was finished, he stuck a teeny tiny star high on her cheekbone, just under her right eye.

"All done," he said, smiling as he gave an exaggerated bow.

He let Penny and Olive back in the dorm and waited for their opinions.

"Penelope," Amelia called out from her side of the room. "Give Kitten a kiss for me! I'm not ruining my lipstick until the end of my date!"

Boy wasn't sure what she meant, but let Penny kiss his cheeks either way. There wouldn't have been a way to escape them anyway.

"So, who's the mystery date?" Olive prompted.

Amelia mumbled something incoherent, and was elbowed encouragingly by Penny.

"Fine! It's Freya Larsson!"

"The sixth year Hufflepuff prefect?" Boy asked, recalling the name. "She's pretty."

Amelia beamed.

"Look at you," Olive smirked. "Dating older women. Who'd have thought Freya was a cougar?"

The girls burst out laughing, but Boy had no idea what they were talking about.

"I hardly think one year gives you the right to call her that." Amelia snorted.

They began talking about more and more things he didn't understand, so he decided to give them some privacy.

Boy knew the practice schedules of all four teams, and there were none on the roster for today. He wanted to go flying without being a bludger target.

It was nice of madam Hooch to keep the broom shed unlocked over the weekends. He was in the air for a little while, flying in lazy circles and figure eights, when he heard his name being called.

From such a distance, Boy couldn't see who had called out, so he picked up speed to get to the three figures at the other end of the pitch. It was Professor McGonagall, along with Jamie and Sir.

As his broom sank, so did his heart. Why was Sir at the school? Had he done something wrong? Did someone tell the Headmaster that he'd sat with the Ravens? Was he being suspended for not following the rules?

He didn't want to leave!

Nervously, Boy slid off his broom and approached the trio. "Hello, everyone." He said meekly.

"I'll leave you to it," Professor McGonagall said with a stern nod.

Sir waited in silence for a moment before rounding on Boy. "What the fuck do you think you're doing? Having a bunch of goddamed Ravenclaw girls writing me to sign permission slips for you to go to the fucking village?"

Boy's eyes widened. They wrote to Sir?! Why? He shook his head vehemently. "Sir, I didn't-"

CRACK!

Boy fell to the ground, his head swimming. He skittered away from Sir, terrified of being struck again. They were in public! That should have protected him! Sir had been very clear on public behavior, and this certainly wasn't part of it.

"Did I give you permission to speak, Boy?" Sir demanded venomously, closing the gap between them in a few brisk steps.

Boy shook his head again, keeping his gaze locked firmly on the ground. He distinctly heard Jamie laughing with Sir, though he didn't dare look up.

"Stand up, you filthy little bastard!"

Boy stood, wondering why no one was coming to his aid. Sir was yelling so loudly that someone had to hear it. Why was no one helping?

CRACK! CRACK!

Boy landed heavily on his wrist and Jamie asked if he could try. There was a large, glowing spider web of magic around them, just like the ones in the library at the manor.

"Alright, kiddo." Sir said warmly. "But you have to make sure you tell Professor McGonagall that the fucking freak decided to hang out with some of the Slytherins when I say goodbye to her. Can you do that, Champ?"

"'Course I can, dad." Jamie said happily.

The next thing he knew, Boy was choking on water. He rolled onto his side, vomiting. It was pouring rain and it was totally dark out. The only light came from the moon, which did little good. It was just barely light enough to see his shallow breath clouds.

He was completely drenched and freezing. With what precious energy he was able to muster, he dragged himself toward the cover of the stands. There was no telling how long it took to make the short distance, but Boy blacked out twice on the way.

In the end, he was only half covered by the stands, but lost consciousness before he could get the rest of the way under.

Boy's legs twisted and he whimpered.

"What the hell?" He heard someone ask over the heavy rain. There was a shocked cry and dim light poured into the covered space.

His disorientation did nothing to stop the person from trying to roll him over. He let out a cry as his weight was shifted to his shoulder.

Everything went white.

Blinking, Boy forced his eyes to stay open. He was surrounded by light cream curtains. How did he get back to the castle? Did Sir come back? Did Jamie? He doubted it, but nothing else made sense. Wait, why were they on the pitch in the first place?

He heard thunder in the distance and tugged the covers higher. That was when he noticed the sling. Why was he wearing a sling? There was also a brace inside it, immobilizing his wrist. What on earth happened?

"Finally awake, I see?" The mediwitch asked, flinging the curtain open.

"Yes, ma'am," he rasped weakly. His throat hurt.

"Good." She nodded. "Then would you mind telling me what in Merlin's name you were doing, flying in the middle of a thunderstorm?"

"What?" He asked. "No, I-" Rough, hacking coughs cut him off.

Taking a few slow breaths, Boy found himself dozing off.

"So, keep the brat here." Professor Snape was saying.

Boy's eyes fluttered open.

"I plan to!" Madam Pomfrey replied. "All I wanted to know was if you'd heard anything! Jamie told Minerva that Potter was staying on the pitch with the Slytherins instead of walking his father out."

"You didn't honestly expect a Potter to have any semblance of proper respect, did you?"

Boy's heart sank. Why did Professor Snape hate him so much? He had never been anything less than respectful to the dour man, but he was still met with stinging comments about anything and everything. Why?

"Oh, stop it, Severus," she said wearily. "Did you question the Slytherins about this mess?"

Boy could practically hear his sneer. "Of course I did." The man spat. "None of them saw a thing. Aside from that, their locations at the time are all accounted for."

"Then why wasn't his absence reported?" The matron asked. "He'd been out there since sometime yesterday afternoon."

"It is likely that his dormmates didn't report the absence due to the fact that Potter comes and goes as he pleases." Snape scoffed. "Surely you don't expect a Potter to abide by the rules set in place centuries before his birth? Really, Poppy. You knew the boy's father as well as anyone during his time here. The precious Boy-Who-Lived is exactly the same. I don't understand how willfully ignorant you and the rest of the staff remain in regards to the entire family. Disrespectful liars, it is all they are, and all they will ever be."

They continued to talk, but Boy shut them out. Could it really be the truth? Nearly everyone he'd met seemed to hate Sir and Jamie. Granted, he hadn't actually met many people, but even the few who liked him didn't like the Potter family. They were supposed to be icons, weren't they? The ultimate 'good guys'. It doesn't make sense.

Eventually the potions Master left and a few minutes later, his curtains were pulled aside.

His eyes snapped shut the second he saw Madam Pomfrey's shadow on the fabric.

When she tutted and closed the curtain, he cast a tempus. Classes were nearly finished for the day. He groaned inwardly, just knowing that he was going to be questioned. What was he supposed to say? 'Sir got mad and beat me senseless because my friends were trying to be helpful?' He didn't see that going over very well.

He spent the next half hour running through dozens of excuses and stories, but they all sounded false.

The huge wooden doors creaked lightly and quick footsteps followed. He cringed. This was it.

"Harry!" Penny's tone was panicked as she looked at him. "What happened?"

Before he could say anything, Olive and Amelia squeezed their way into his curtain cave.

"Well?!" Olive urged. "You didn't show up for breakfast or classes! We were terrified!"

"What do you have to say for yourself, mister?" Amelia demanded, her anger not reaching her eyes. "When you'd missed dinner last night, we figured you just went to get some sleep. Then… you just didn't show up this morning. Some people are saying that Madam Hooch found you outside! It's been raining non-stop since yesterday!"

Well, that explains why I keep coughing, Boy thought miserably.

"I'm not entirely sure what happened," he said truthfully. He didn't know. Why had no one heard Sir shouting those awful things at him? Why had no one seen anything? Why had he shown up in the first place? Surely Sir knew that Boy would have eventually been found. Why risk it? He just couldn't understand it.

"What's the last thing you remember?" Olive asked sympathetically, patting his uninjured hand.

"Flying," he said. "Professor McGonagall called me down and then S-father told me about some Ravenclaw girls writing to him. He left, I can't… I don't know what happened after."

Penny frowned. "But you're okay, right?"

Boy shrugged, coughing. He hurt all over and his chest felt tight. It was fine. He'd dealt with much worse than that. Besides, it wasn't so bad as long as he stayed completely still.

"Is that truly all you can remember, Mr. Potter?"

They all jumped at the sound of the Headmaster's voice.

Boy winced as his arm and leg were jostled. "Yes, sir." He gasped out.

The man eyed him with scarcely concealed suspicion.

Boy lowered his gaze in submission, wanting to fiddle with his hands, but forced himself not to. Sir hated when he fiddled or twitched. He knew the consequences.

"Very well," the Headmaster said coolly. "I'm sure you'll see your… friends in class tomorrow. Off you go."

Grumpily, the girls left, but not until they made sure he knew they'd be back.

It was nice to have friends. Even if he did have to lie to them.

Boy wasn't released until Thursday, and despite their vehement promises, he had received no further visits. It hurt.

Gathering a determined visage, he limped down to the dungeons alone. His right leg had been dislocated and some muscle had torn, but he had been adamant about leaving. Besides, his injuries had all healed… except for his leg.

Madam Pomfrey didn't think his limp would be permanent, but said she couldn't be one hundred percent sure. She had given him a walking stick with instructions to return every weekend until he no longer needed it.

Boy didn't care. He was just happy to leave in spite of liking the bed. That was going to be missed.

He stopped by the transfiguration classroom to pick up his classwork for the week. Professor McGonagall handed him a list and sent him on his way.

Professor Flitwick beamed at him when he knocked on the open door.

"Mr. Potter!" He called out happily. "Come have a seat!"

Giving the short man his own genuine smile, he made his way (so slow!) down the levels of seating. He was half exhausted by the time he got to the front of the room and dropped into a seat gratefully.

"Hello, sir," he said, hoping his slightly labored breathing went unnoticed.

"How are you feeling, Harry?" He asked sadly. "Madam Pomfrey told us about your injuries."

Boy just shrugged. "I'll be fine, sir."

The professor didn't appear to believe him, but let it go regardless. "So, what can I do for you this fine day?"

Boy smiled. Professor Flitwick was easily his favorite teacher. "Just picking up my missed assignments, sir."

"Tea?"

He blinked. "Er, sure…? I mean, yes sir. Thank you."

The professor chuckled, summoning an elf for tea. He even asked Boy how he took it!

"Plain, sir," he replied meekly, still not used to sweets. Who was he kidding? He wasn't really used to anything yet.

They chatted about nothing in particular until the professor let out a shocked gasp. "It's already time for dinner!"

That surprised Boy as well. He hadn't realized he'd been there for over two hours! Oops. "I'm sorry to have taken so much of your time, sir!" He probably had a lot of his own work to get on with, and Boy was wasting what precious little time the man did have. Stupid stupid!

"Not at all!" He grinned. "I quite enjoy your company."

"Thank you, sir." Boy said quickly. "I enjoy yours as well."

"Alright, off you trot!"

"I'll see you tomorrow, sir." He waved before letting himself out.

By the time he reached the Great Hall, dinner had been going on for a while. He snuck in as best as he could, heading straight for the empty area of the Slytherin table. No one ever wanted to sit there, so he did. According to the Slytherin hierarchy, that was the lowest ranking spot in the house.

He didn't care. It simply meant that he never had to look for a place to sit and that no one would ever take his spot.

As usual, he was totally ignored. It suited him just fine. He took a shrunken book out of his pocket and enlarged it to read while he ate.

As he became absorbed in his book, the rest of the noise faded to a constant hum.

When the noise dissipated, he looked up to find that everyone had gone, barring a few stragglers.

"Hey," Penny said, sitting across from him.

He nodded, sure that if he opened his mouth, he'd start crying. They broke their promises. They hadn't come back. Four days. At least one of them should have had a few spare minutes to say 'hi' in four days.

Maybe having friends wasn't all it was cracked up to be.

He could cry in his cupboard, not out here. Putting one hand on the table and the other on his walking stick, he pushed himself to stand. Hiding his grimace as flames licked up his leg, he left the Hall.

Thankfully it was Thursday, so everyone had to get to bed at a reasonable time. At least he wouldn't be kept up all night again. That had not been an experience he wanted to repeat.

It took some effort, but he was eventually able to get down to the floor and curl up to go to sleep.

The next morning, he got up an additional twenty minutes early. He was glad for that idea when he had to get off the floor. It took a lot longer than usual to get ready. He had to leave the dungeons a few minutes after six to avoid accidentally running into one of his housemates by himself, especially since he was moving so slowly. He'd never be able to outrun them now.

Reaching the first floor, Boy was worn out. Why were the Slytherin dorms so far down?

"Hey, Harry!" Olive called out as he leaned on the wall to catch his breath.

"Hey," he replied dully. Why had they lied? It would have been fine if they hadn't promised to come back to the infirmary, but they had.

"Been hiding all this time?" She asked, skipping over to him.

"What?" What was she talking about?

"The Headmaster said you were released days ago, but no one has seen you!" She hugged him tightly, knocking his walking stick to the ground with a clatter.

He pointed his 'wand' at the stick and summoned it, unable to pick it up normally.

"Kitten, what…?"

He sighed. "The Headmaster was mistaken. I wasn't released until yesterday as there was a fair amount of damage."

She hugged him again. "We had no idea, I swear!"

Breathing a sigh of relief, he returned the hug. "After you said you'd all visit, and never showed up, I- I-"

Pulling back, she looked him over. "Come on, Kitten. Let's go see Penelope and Amelia. At least now we know why you didn't want to talk to Penelope last night! She was a bit put out over it."

He groaned, ignoring the clicks of his walking stick. "I never gave her a chance to-"

"It's okay, Kitten." She assured him, kissing the top of his head.

"How do I keep getting stuck with nicknames?" He whined halfheartedly, not really minding at all.

"Just lucky, I suppose," she said, smirking.

He rolled his eyes. "Since I'm so lucky, does that mean you have a list of things I missed this week? I've already seen Professors Flitwick and McGonagall, but none of the others yet."

She hummed for a moment. "I can't help with runes or potions, but I've got the rest!"

"Why weren't you in potions?" He asked, gingerly taking his seat.

She sat at the same end of the Ravenclaw table to be able to talk to him. "Bloody career counseling this week."

His brows rose in surprise at her attitude. "What's wrong with that?"

"Not knowing what I want to do!" She blurted. "It was horrible! I felt so stupid! Who doesn't know what they want to do for the rest of their life?"

"I don't." Boy said simply.

"Yeah," she said. "That's because you're eleven!"

"So? We're in the same year. We're going to graduate at the same time."

"Oh, Merlin, you're right! What are you going to tell Snape?"

His brow knit. "Professor Snape? What do you mean?"

"Our counseling is done one on one with our Heads of House. You'll have to speak with Professor Snape about your career options."

Crinkling his nose, Boy poured himself a cup of tea. He tried it for the first time about three weeks ago, immediately falling in love. "I don't know, Olive. Like you said, I'm only eleven, but I'll be done with school soon too!" He let his head drop to the table. "What do I do?"

"Pray!" Amelia said, finally showing up. "I definitely don't envy you, Kitten."

"Me neither," he pouted. "Hey, where's Penny?"

Amelia scoffed. "Gee thanks. Missed you too."

He stuck his tongue out at her, sinking into his tea. "I didn't hurt your feelings over a misunderstanding, did I?"

She looked confused. "Not that I know of…?"

"We can't be mad at Kitten, 'Melia. He's still hurt." Olive pointed out.

"Pomfrey wouldn't let him go if he was still injured."

"She would if she couldn't fix it," he said sadly.

"What?!" They both shouted, attracting the attention of the students and staff that were there early.

"She…" he cleared his throat. "She said she hopes it isn't permanent."

"You didn't tell me that before!" Olive said desperately. "I was wrong. You have horrible luck."

"Organization be damned." Amelia said firmly, getting up. She walked over to the Slytherin table and picked up his tea. "Sit over here. I double checked and there is no reason for the Headmaster to keep you from sitting with us."

He rose carefully. Why was he intentionally going against what the Headmaster said? "I'm going to be in trouble for this."

"No you won't." Amelia said, putting toast on his plate. "I'll tell him the truth. I stole your tea and made you come with me, then educate him on the student handbook."

"Great idea," he replied sarcastically. "Then you'll get into trouble."

"I will not. Oh, look! Penelope's finally here."

Boy glanced up. "I'm sorry!" He blurted upon seeing his first friend.

Olive and Amelia just laughed, while Penny took a moment.

“It’s fine, Buh-Harry.” She replied. “What had you upset?”

When he quickly rehashed the details of the past few days, she was furious. Throughout the entire meal, she was cursing the ‘unknown student’ that injured him in the first place, right along with Madam Pomfrey! She kept him wrapped up in one arm the whole time, as if daring someone to speak out. Ironically, no one did, though they did note that Dumbledore was absent.

Boy didn’t mind her fawning. In fact, after eating his small meal, he rested his head on her shoulder and started dozing right there at the table.

When he felt his arm being gently shaken, he blinked blearily. He was comfy and didn’t want to move. It was then that he realized that his head had slipped from Penny’s shoulder and was now resting on her chest. He blushed brightly, sitting up.

After Amelia ribbed him for ‘copping his first feel’ so young, he began the trek down to the Slytherin common room. By the time he’d gotten down to the correct corridor, he was alone, having been moving so much slower than the rest of his housemates.

“Black furred human!”

Boy whipped around to find the corridor just as empty as he thought. It wasn’t a person though. It was the portrait with the snakes. “Hi,” he whispered.

The black snake, Lathassa, rose on its coil. “Young speaker!”

“You have returned to speak with us!” The other snake said happily.

“How are you?” He asked politely.

“We have been bored, young master!” The albino snake wailed dramatically. “We have been waiting fifty years for another speaker!”

“Forgive Ashthessa, young speaker,” Lathassa said, head bowed and shaking slightly. “She was painted as a young snake, just out of hatchling-hood.”

“Is she your hatchling, then?” This was certainly strange.

“No, young speaker.” Lathassa said calmly. “We do not match. She is an albino python, while I am a magical breed, similar to the black mamba.”

Oops. “I apologize. I don’t know much about snakes.”

Red eyes peered down at him. “You look unwell.”

“I’m okay,” he said. “Just tired.”

“Then you should sleep.”

Boy barely avoided rolling his eyes at the albino snake. “I was on my way to do just that.”

“Go to your nest, young speaker.” Lathassa said calmly. “We will speak with you when you are more well rested.”

“Okay,” he said, feeling a bit awkward under their scrutiny. “I suppose I’ll see you later.”

“Bye!” Ashthassa called as he limped away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooh, who wants to kill James Potter Senior now? I know I do.


	6. Chapter 6

Boy had visited Madam Pomfrey a few times for his weekly check-ins. It didn’t look good. Sure, she tried to remain positive for him, but he could see through it. She was clearly afraid of telling him that the damage was irreparable.

On a more positive note, she did give him the go-ahead to play quidditch still, so long as he wore a protective brace. It was a strange thing, looking like a very long black sock. When he slid it on for the first time, she had adjusted it a bit here and there, but when it was perfectly aligned, Boy was instructed to keep his leg absolutely still for five seconds. That done, he was amazed to find that it was immobilized as if by a cast. It also had a handful of charms woven into the strange fabric. She informed him that while there was a pain reliever in it, it could not be worn for more than three hours at a time, and only a few times per week. Aside from that, there was a charm that kept it from getting dirty or wet, even from sweat, as well as being able to blend in seamlessly with whatever trousers he was wearing.

He was fascinated by the Chameleon charm on it. Disillusion charms could only be held as long as the caster was focusing on it, whereas the Chameleon charm was imbued into the fabric. It would even mimic his skin tone (and leg hair when it grew) if he wore it with shorts. Because of all the charms, it couldn’t be magicked to grow with him, so he would need to replace it with any growth spurts.

His classes were going very well also. He, Penny, Olive and Amelia were dominating the top six spots in their year. He was first, Penny was third and Olive and Amelia were holding fifth and sixth respectively. Percy Weasley was holding the number two spot, which was driving him spare.

Penny told them both (separately of course) not to worry about it.

Percy was upset at not being number one, while Boy was upset that Percy grew cold toward him over it.

He had asked Penny if he should fail an assignment and let Percy slip into first, but all three of his friends protested that fiercely. He made sure not to bring it up again.

The many times he saw Jamie throughout October, he always seemed to be alone. Because of that, he was brewing burn salves, bruise balms and he had begun keeping essence of dittany on his person at all times.

While not very educated in magic, which Boy could not understand at all, Jamie preferred to use muggle fighting as opposed to jinxes and hexes. That actually pleased Boy, because muggle fighting injuries (his leg excluded) were easier to heal than many magical injuries.

At the next quidditch match, he had taken a bludger to the ribs from one of his own teammates, and was able to get his hands on a couple doses of pain reliever when the matron’s back was turned. He didn’t have access to all of the ingredients for it, so he was taking the potions, which he felt bad about. Besides, even with the little bit of money that he was making doing girls’ hair, all of that money was being added onto his gift certificate and spent on other potions ingredients. The pain relief potion had a few things that weren’t exactly cost effective, and so he was using it all for the cheaper ingredients for the other potions.

Penny had asked him about his spending requests, but didn’t push the subject when he said he just liked brewing.

It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t exactly the truth either. Brewing was not necessarily his favorite activity, but he did enjoy being able to fix himself up, which was all that truly mattered.

The only nice thing about having a long lasting injury was that no one was ever surprised when he appeared to be in pain. Most of his professors were pretty understanding, but Professor Snape was irritated by the entire ordeal. That’s not to say that he wasn’t at least partially sympathetic, but he did make it a point to loudly ask other students to get his things from the student cupboard so that he wouldn’t have to struggle through the crowds. The Ravenclaws that he shared the class with hadn’t found it funny, but the Slytherins did.

That wasn’t totally fair. Most of the Slytherins found it amusing, but he’d noticed that one or two, whose names he didn’t know, never laughed. The Ravenclaws weren’t perfect either. He seemed to have made… not friends, but close acquaintances, with the females. The males in that house didn’t laugh, but they didn’t care either.

Despite not making much sense, even to himself, he was okay with having the Slytherins dislike him. He had friends, he had acquaintances, and he had (not enemies, as he was only eleven) but… antagonists. That made more sense than enemies. It didn’t bother him, because from what he understood, that was normal. He liked having something be normal in his life. It was refreshing.

He also continued being dragged to the Ravenclaw table at meals when it was safe to do so, meaning the Headmaster wasn’t attending. Twice more he’d been moved back to his own house table, receiving detention on the last encounter. His ‘detention’ had been the task of writing an essay on the importance of organization. It was three feet long, as instructed, and was handed in to the Headmaster the following morning at breakfast, in full view of everyone. He hadn’t gotten much sleep that night.

Having his friends stick up for him didn’t do any good either, but he hadn’t expected it to. Penny had actually had her prefect duties subtly threatened. The professors weren’t too impressed, but no one said anything about the reprimand.

As Halloween approached, Boy grew irritated. He wasn’t very fond of the holiday that made his family famous. That was the day, exactly ten years prior, that he became the ‘unlovable twin’, the ‘useless twin’.

As Boy grew more despondent, Jamie seemed to get more and more obnoxious. He was constantly lording his so-called superiority over the Slytherins, Boy in particular.

Before, there had been a few attacks per week, but now Jamie was actively seeking him out to start confrontations, which Boy never once responded to, but was punished for regardless. Boy could barely remember the last time he’d gone a full day without being attacked, and Jamie was now learning how to do more than shoot non-harmful sparks out of his wand.

As Boy was leaving breakfast on the Sunday before the dreaded holiday, he was going to the unused classroom to remove his trunk from his pocket and take out anything he might need for the day. Today, all he needed was his sock/brace and a book he’d planned to finish that afternoon. He had just re-shrunk the trunk and stowed it in his pocket when the door slammed open.

“Hey, Freak,” Jamie sneered, having taken to calling him that over the past few weeks.

Boy didn’t say a word.

“Let me ask you something,” he said, unbothered by his twin’s refusal to speak to him. “How is it that my parents got saddled with such a worthless piece of shit like you?”

Boy was quiet and still, as Jamie was blocking the only exit. He leaned a bit on his walking stick, wishing he’d already put the sock/brace on. It had started bothering him more the colder it got. He was not looking forward to winter.

For the next few minutes, Jamie spewed such vitriol that Boy was actually astonished. Where on Earth had he learned such things? And how many of the insults did he understand? Boy didn’t know half of what was being said, but it certainly didn’t sound very good.

Eventually, Jamie seemed to realize that Boy was not going to respond, despite never having done so before, so he resorted to his favorite pastime. Physical muggle violence.

An hour later, Boy was sure that his pre-injured knee was completely useless. Through pained gasps and quiet cries, he healed everything that couldn’t be explained by his ‘tumble down the stairs’. Boot shaped prints on his ribs, finger shaped bruises on his arms, things like that. He left the small cut that split his eyebrow, his broken nose (and resulting black eyes) and a few shapeless bruises from all over his body.

Thanking unknown deities, Boy hovered himself the blessedly short trip to the base of the stairs. He was glad that he hadn’t tried to hover himself all the way to the infirmary because by the time he reached the base of the stairs, he was so lightheaded that his magic faltered and dropped him heavily on the unforgiving flagstones. He didn’t remain conscious for very long after that.

Boy was warm and comfortable. Someone was running their fingers through his hair, and they weren’t pulling. That left out any of the Potters! He didn’t want to open his eyes. Humming in contentment, he turned his head toward the hand. It felt heavenly.

“Just like a sleepy little kitten,” a familiar voice teased quietly.

“I’m surprised he isn’t purring,” another voice said with a stifled giggle.

“‘M not a kit’n,” he mumbled groggily, keeping his eyes shut.

“Nope,” a third voice said. “This time he’s a big grizzly bear.”

“Which start out as cute, fluffy little teddy bears,” the second voice said.

That was Penny, his mind supplied. In the spirit of things, he held up his hand in a mock claw and said “Grrr.”

All three of his friends cracked up at that.

Sighing, he opened his eyes.

Amelia stopped running her fingers through his hair.

He pouted. “Hey, why’d you stop?”

“Because I can’t keep petting you like a little kitten if you’re not one. It isn’t right.” She said in a faux serious tone. “Bears don’t get kitty pats.”

Huffing, he crossed his arms. “Fine, I’m a kitten,” he grumbled, barely audible.

“And such a pretty kitty too!”

“No!” Boy said immediately. “I might be a kitten, but I am drawing the line at pretty kitty.”

The girls exchanged looks as if having a silent conversation.

“Alright, Buh-Harry,” Penny said with a nod. “We’ll respect your right to refuse.”

“That’s all I ask,” he said snootily, his facade slipping when he smiled.

“So,” Olive said, leaning close. “How are you feeling, Kitten?”

He shrugged. “I feel fine. Whatever potions she’s using, Madam Pomfrey knows her stuff. My leg doesn’t even hurt right now. It’s nice.”

“Excellent!” Madam Pomfrey said happily, coming toward them. “Now, since we’ve already gone over this, I trust I don’t need to remind you about the damage that too much of those pain po-”

“I know, Madam Pomfrey.” Boy replied dutifully. “While non-addictive, pain potions are harmful to multiple organs, though none more so than the liver and stomach.”

The medi-witch harrumphed and left them alone, letting him know that she was going to talk to him later.

“Your luck really is awful.” Olive snorted. “Falling down a flight of stairs, Kitten? Really?”

He shrugged, not liking having to lie to his friends. “I think my leg buckled.”

After a while, Boy couldn't be sure how long, his friends had to go back to Ravenclaw tower.

It was at that time that Madam Pomfrey decided to break the news. "I want you to know, Mr. Potter, that I will continue my correspondence with the Healers at St Mungo's to assist you." She paused to sigh. "At this point, however, I have to fulfill my duty to you, as a student in my care. I've already owled your parents, and your mother is set to be here shortly."

"You're too nice to tell me outright, aren't you?" Boy asked, giving a weak smile, desperately trying to keep his face from betraying his upset at the mention of Ma’am. "You weren't sure before, but now you are. My leg can't ever be fixed, can it? That's what you want to say, isn't it? I'm stuck like this."

Her eyes closed. "I am sorry, Harry."

"It's alright, Madam Pomfrey," he said dejectedly. "I figured it would be, even though you tried to make me believe that I-it could be fixed. I've been coming to terms with this for a few weeks now."

Looking heartbroken, she cupped his cheek. "Listen to me, Harry. I'm not giving up just yet. Just because it looks bleak now, that doesn't mean it always will be. Medicine is constantly changing, so keep that chin up. Okay?"

He nodded. "I will."

"Good boy," she said kindly, patting his hand.

Just then, the doors opened to reveal a disgruntled Ma'am.

"Poppy!" Ma'am greeted warmly. "How are you?"

Madam Pomfrey was startled by the redhead's actions. She held Boy's hand comfortingly. She watched with confusion as Lady Potter approached, never sparing so much as a glance in her son's direction.

"Harry and I have been chatting about his injury. He's quite a mature young man, your boy.”

The smile on Lady Potter's face never reached her eyes. "So, what's going on, Poppy?"

"As I've just told Harry, I have been in contact with several Healers. They have all come to the same conclusion. While he will retain the ability to walk, he will always have a limp and need a cane for the rest of his life."

She cleared her throat. "Do you need me to take him home? I'm sure James and I could find suitable tutors to k-"

"Slow down, Lily!" Madam Pomfrey interrupted with wide eyes. "I didn't ask you here to take him out of school! He is more than capable of continuing his education. I thought that, given the circumstances, you would like to see your son."

Ma'am breathed a sigh of relief. "I'm glad he'll be able to stay."

"I also wanted to discuss something that I believe will be beneficial to your son's safety." She said, eyeing the redhead. "It would benefit Harry to have a support animal, preferably something on the larger side, so that should he need the assistance, he could lean on it until he is able to rest."

Brows raised, Ma'am gaped. "Surely such an animal would be against the rules, wouldn't it?"

"Don't be silly! I would never have suggested that would get him into trouble." What in Merlin's name was wrong with that woman? "Now, Harry, whatever animal you choose, you'll have to make sure it can support your weight. You bring it to me, and I'll help you train it up. Alright?"

Boy nodded excitedly, not daring to speak in front of Ma'am.

"I've already spoken to the Headmaster, so you'll be able to go with your mum tomorrow after breakfast if you're up to it." She gave his hand a brief squeeze.

"If he can't go until tomorrow, then why was I asked to be here today?"

Madam Pomfrey was aghast. That woman’s child was seriously injured for the second time, and she didn’t seem to care one whit! They hadn’t even visited when poor Harry was attacked, but they had both shown up when Jamie sprained his wrist somehow last week. What was the matter with them? “Because your son was hurt?” She hadn’t meant for it to sound like a question, but who could blame her?

“Yes, of course,” the woman shook her head and smiled. “I apologize, Poppy. I’ve been feeling a bit off for the past few days.”

That made sense. Lady Potter was doting on Jamie last week. If she was unwell, it could explain things.

“Would you like me to run a scan?” Madam Pomfrey asked, gaze softening.

“I suppose so,” she said. “Since I’m already here.”

“Very well. Have a lie down and we’ll see what’s bothering you.”

A few minutes later, the matron gasped. “Well, that certainly explains things!”

“What is it?” Came the panicked question.

“You’re approximately nine weeks pregnant.”

Boy’s jaw dropped. He was going to be a big brother! Smiling broadly, he decided that he would be the best big brother ever!

“That’s wonderful!” Ma’am cried, placing both hands on her flat stomach. “I have to go tell James! He’ll be so thrilled!”

“Congratulations, Lily,” Madam Pomfrey said, happy for the family.

Ma’am stood and hugged the matron before practically flying out of the room.

The next morning, Madam Pomfrey let Boy’s friends escort him down to the entrance Hall to wait for Ma’am.

Again, he was picked up and put on Olive’s back.

“After today this won’t be necessary,” he told her with a smirk.

“Don’t worry,” she said teasingly. “I’ll still want to carry you around like a little kitten.”

He snorted at that. “You must be covered in claw marks if you carry kittens like this.” He was happy that he was allowed to wear his sock/brace to go out.

Despite him telling them about the pain blockers in the fabric, they insisted that he sit until he was picked up.

Penny wanted to transfigure him a seat, but there was nothing around.

Boy rolled his eyes and sat on the steps.

They sat with him until they had to get to class.

Nine twenty-four. Boy got up to walk around the Hall.

Ten thirty-eight. It was getting a bit late.

Twelve seventeen. Madam Pomfrey had told him that he was expected to be back by lunch, which was in forty-three minutes.

A few minutes before the students were set to swarm the corridors once more, Boy was forcing back tears. He should have expected it, really.

They were the same people who sent him to a wizarding school without a wand. They obviously didn’t care that the animal he picked was supposed to be for his safety.

He had been scratching his arms for a while before he’d realized it and snapped his arms down, gripping his walking stick too tightly. Squeezing his eyes shut to stave off the tears attempting to escape, he forced himself to breathe slowly.

Standing, he took one last calming breath and headed down to the dungeons. He ignored Lathassa and Ashthessa’s calls, suddenly desperate for his broom cupboard.

When he was seated, he flipped the top hem of the sock/brace to deactivate it and tugged it off. Wrapping his arms tightly around his middle, he finally let out his tears.

Gathering his wits, Boy extracted himself from his cupboard. He had classes to get to.

He made it to the first floor just as the students began flooding out of the Great hall. Off to charms then.

Professor was actually surprised when he walked into the room.

When the class began working on the whistling charm independently, the professor approached Boy.

“Mr. Potter,” he said quietly. “I was under the impression that you would not be attending classes on your own any longer. Madam Pomfrey told your professors you were going to be getting a support animal to assist you.”

Boy forced himself not to scratch his arms. “Yes, sir. Ma’a-Mother couldn’t make it.”

The professor eyed him for a moment before nodding. “Keep close to your friends until one of your parents can get here, alright? I quite like having you in my classes better than in the infirmary.”

“Yes, sir,” he mumbled, keeping his gaze locked on the table.

Raising his voice, Professor Flitwick began instructing the class once more.

After Charms, Penny and Olive walked him to Arithmancy without Amelia, since she wasn’t taking the class. Well, Olive carried him. Boy didn’t even put up a fight anymore. There was no point. They worried for him, and he appreciated that more than words could express.

He tightened his hold in an awkward brief hug just outside the classroom door.

She let him down and kissed the top of his head. “Love you too, Kitten.”

Penny took his arm as he went down the levels that the tables were arranged on. They always sat up front and his leg wouldn’t change that.

As usual, he and Penny raced through the equations to see who could finish first, but they never kept track. Today, Penny won, but only by a minute or so. Boy didn’t mind. It was usually pretty close. What did confuse him, however, was that their answers were nowhere near similar.

He scanned through his work twice, but nothing was wrong, so he looked at her parchment. The work was right, but they had different- He groaned. “We’re both right, but I copied it wrong.”

Professor Vector smirked at them from her desk. “Done already?”

Penny handed over her work, but Boy didn’t.

“Professor, I messed it up.” He admitted, flushing red.

The entire class went silent. Quills stopped scratching, parchment stopped shifting and Olive stopped tapping her foot off the leg of her chair.

“Are you well, Mr. Potter?” Professor Vector asked, her face filled with concern. She was usually just as ill tempered as Professor Snape, but her veneer cracked on occasion while his never did.

“Yes, professor,” he said, his flush deepening. “I copied it down wrong, but what I have done should still be right. Can I redo it?”

“Of course,” she said. “We all make mistakes from time to time. May I have your parchment?”

He was tempted to ask why, but refrained, handing over his work.

“The show is over,” she said loudly. “Back to your tasks.”

Boy rewrote the problem, triple checking it this time, and got to it. He was still finished before a majority of the class.

When the low chime signalling the end of class sounded, the professor held him back.

“How were you able to make this conversion?” She asked.

Going through his process, Boy had to stop to explain two separate points that she didn’t understand.

When all was said and done, she leaned back in her chair. “This is remarkable. You may have just done the impossible, Mr. Potter.”

Boy blinked. “It wasn’t that difficult, professor, I just-”

“The fact that you were able to not only correct your initial mistake, but solve it as well...“ She paused, wearing a curious expression. “Well, now I know why Miss Clearwater was able to win your race today.”

“You noticed that?” Boy asked sheepishly. “I’m sorry.”

“Of course I noticed,” she said flippantly. “Though I am cursing the school board for it’s ridiculous rules.”

“Professor?”

She sighed. “Mr. Potter, are you learning anything new? In any of your classes, not just this one.”

His heart dropped. She thought he was unteachable. “Professor, I really didn’t mean to mess up! It won’t happen again, just please don’t make me leave your class. I’m so sorry! I’ll work harder, I promise!”

Utterly bewildered, she covered his mouth. “I am not kicking you out of my class, Mr. Potter.” Conjuring a handkerchief, she dabbed his damp cheeks. “Take a second to calm down, then tell me if you’re learning anything new in any of your classes.”

Boy was humiliated over crying in front of his professor, but calmed eventually. “Well, I suppose I am. I’ve only ever read the theory on my classwork. Before coming here, I hadn’t been able to put any of it into practice. So, yes, I am learning.”

Nodding, she vanished the handkerchief. “There is a staff meeting on the first of every month, which falls on Friday. You and I will have our own meeting on Saturday. Meet me here at two.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, relieved he wasn’t being kicked out.

Friday morning, Halloween dawned raining and cold. Boy thought it was appropriate as he trudged up the stairs to get to the Great Hall.

As usual, he was the first of the Slytherins to arrive. He ignored all of the (excessively gaudy) decorations and ate his porridge quietly, taking out a book to occupy himself. It was a lot easier to read a book than to sit awkwardly around people who went out of their way to try to upset him.

By the time the first of his housemates showed up, Boy was finished. He went back down to the dungeons and sat in an alcove that was hidden by a tapestry, to wait for potions class to begin. It was a double period today, and they were working on the Draught of Living Death, which was supposed to be incredibly difficult to make. He was excited to see what he could do, even if Professor Snape would never cheer him on for doing well.

In class, Boy was confused. The sopophorous bean he was dealing with was not putting out even half of the juice it contained. Shouldn’t cutting it open work?

He went to the student stores and looked over the little drawer containing the beans. Picking up the oldest looking ones, he went back to his seat.

With the first one, he rolled it across the table, applying gentle pressure to coax out more of the juices. A little more came out of that one, but it still wasn’t enough for the potion. For the second, he nicked one end and put it into his mortar and slowly crushed it with the pestle. With a delighted smile, he tossed the bean aside and poured the shocking amount of liquid into his cauldron.

His potion was a different shade than the rest. It was much lighter than the dozen clear phials that were uniform in color. He didn’t pay attention to the ones that were either tar-like sludge or strange colors. The book had said his potion was the right color, but why were his (capable) classmates’ potions all the same?

There was no time to try again, so he bit the inside of his cheek and handed his over with trembling hands.

For a split second, Professor Snape’s face morphed into some vague semblance of a smile, but was gone even faster. It turned to a sneer when he looked at Boy’s worried figure. “Pass. Now go.”

“I don’t think I want to go to the feast tonight,” Boy said as he and his friends left transfiguration. “I’d rather just go to the library.”

“What’s wrong, Kitten?” Amelia asked, feeling his forehead. “You don’t have a fever.”

“I’m not sick, ‘Melia. I just don’t want to go. Besides, all of those decorations are ridiculous. What does all that nonsense have to do with Samhain?” He knew perfectly well that it was for Halloween and not Samhain, but that wasn’t the point.

Rather than question it, Olive and Amelia followed him to the library. Penny was going to the feast to see Percy, who had finally gathered the courage to ask her on a date for tomorrow.

They settled at a table near the doors, knowing that everyone was at the feast. Boy barely spared a glance for Professor Quirrel who passed the doors, muttering to himself as usual. As soon as the man was gone, the ache in his head dissipated. He refocused on the copy of ‘The Basics of Animagery’, fascinated. He knew that his- that Jamie’s godfather was a dog animagus called Padfoot and Sir was a stag called Prongs. If he could become an animagus, then they might finally have something in common! Getting the leaf wouldn’t be a problem. He could get that from one of the greenhouses. Maybe he could use a sticking charm to keep it from falling out of his mouth when he slept or ate.

For a while, he read, imagining what kind of animal he could become. He would love to become some type of bird. Flying was so exhilarating, and to be able to do it under his own power would be incredible. No broom, no pads, no pressure of victory or defeat. Just him, soaring through the air. It would be perfect.

His friends decided to sneak up to their common room to set up a silly prank for Penny. He didn’t mind, as he was too wrapped up in his book. Shortly after they left, he could hear the rumbling of the students’ mass exit from the Great Hall and he went to his usual seat in the back of the library for quiet.

Eventually, he would have to go back to his common room, but he at least wanted to finish the chapter he was on. There were only two pages left.

When he reshelved the book, he noted that the corridors were completely silent.

Well, at least there was no one (Jamie) around to attack him. He had only gotten as far as the top of the stairs to the dungeons when the smell hit him.

Boy covered his nose and did his best not to gag. Merlin! It was worse than anything he'd ever smelled.

Guts churning, he hesitated going down the stairs. It was likely worse down there. Debating on whether or not to go back to the library, he held his breath.

Back to the library it is, he decided.

He made it about fifteen feet when the source of the offensive smell stepped in his path.

Boy frozen on the spot.

The troll swung its massive club, narrowly missing Boy's torso.

Landing heavily on his bum, Boy held up his hand and cried out, "Catenas ligant!"

Chains as thick as his wrist burst out from nowhere, wrapping the troll at least a dozen times. From the chest down, it was completely bound.

He summoned the club, just to be safe… and cast the binding spell again.

Staring stupidly at the enormous chain wrapped troll, Boy didn't move a muscle.

"...Look at me, you insolent brat!"

Boy snapped out of his stupor and looked up into the onyx eyes of his potions professor.

"Severus," came the chiding voice of the Headmaster. "There is no need for that."

The dour man scoffed. "Up, Potter."

Up? Up where? Oh. He was still sitting on the floor.

With one hand on his walking stick and the other braced on the wall, he pushed himself upright, his gaze going back to the troll.

It was struggling against the chains, but couldn't move more than an inch or so.

"Why weren't you in your common room?" The professor demanded furiously.

Boy dragged his eyes from the beast. "I-it's not curfew yet, is it sir?"

"Are you so desperately in need of attention that you went out of your way to be the hero?" The man sneered. "Beginning tomorrow, you have a month of detention!"

Boy wanted to ask why, but he just nodded in defeated acceptance.

"Mr. Potter," Professor Flitwick called. "You weren't at the feast, were you?"

"No, sir. I was in the library."

"Festivities not up to your standards, Potter?" Professor Snape snapped.

"That's enough, Severus." The charms professor said, the warning in his tone clear.

"Is anyone able to confirm your alibi?" The Headmaster asked.

"Alibi?" Boy repeated. "Madam Pince and my friends were in the library with me. Why would I need an alibi?"

"The names of the students who saw you in the library, if you please."

"Amelia Odoa and Olive Elison," he replied immediately. "They went back up to the tower a little while ago."

"That's convenient." Professor Snape said venomously. "And why did they leave just before the announcement?"

"To put red and gold glitter in Penny's shampoo, sir." Boy answered honestly, still unable to look away from the troll. "They like teasing, sir, and Penny has a date with a Gryffindor. I charmed the glitter to fall off when her hair dries."

Professor Flitwick seemed impressed. "Alright, Harry, I think it's about time to get back to your common room."

"Yes, sir," Boy said, shifting his walking stick to the other hand. "Goodnight."

A million questions were running through his mind, but he knew better than to ask them.

Around noon, Boy went with his friends near the Entrance Hall. He had made Penny up for her date and she was a bit nervous. He didn’t say a word about the troll.

"Don't bite your lip," he said with a smile. "According to 'Melia, lipstick gets ruined at the end of the date, not before."

"That's right, Kitten." Amelia snorted, carding her fingers through his hair. "You tell her!"

Boy made kissy lips and dissolved into giggles with Amelia and Olive.

"Percy's too straight laced to make a move on the first date." Olive pointed out.

“You never know,” he said with a shrug and saw Percy approaching. “Have fun, Penny. We’ve got homework to finish.”

“So, Kitten,” Amelia began, not even pretending to read her book. “Did either of your parents say when they would come pick you up?”

Closing his eyes for a minute, he marked his page and set the book down. “Not yet, no. They’re probably still adjusting to the news.”

“How long could it possibly take to adjust to the fact that your child will never walk properly again?” Olive snapped.

“What?” Boy asked. “No, not that. Mother wasn’t feeling well when she came to visit, so Madam Pomfrey scanned her and they found out that she’s going to have a baby. I’m sure they’re just a bit scatterbrained right now.” The urge to scratch his arms open was strong. He choked it back. It wasn’t the baby’s fault, and he would never blame a baby for his problems. It was just another reason to ignore him.

“You’re going to be a big brother!” Olive squealed. “That’s so exciting!”

Boy smiled.

“Okay,” Amelia said, unimpressed. “But what about your support animal? If they just found out about the baby, they have months before it pops the chute. How is that keeping them from taking a few hours to help you?”

“Don’t be like that, Amelia.” Olive sighed. “They’re probably still adjusting.”

Ameila rolled her eyes. “Whatever you say. We should still write them.”

“No!” Boy said, a bit too loudly. “I’ll take care of it.”

Startled by his outburst, they both looked at him in surprise.

Boy was worried now. If he were to write a letter to them, how much trouble would he be in? When his friends had done it, well… that hadn’t gone well. Now that Jamie knew how Sir treated him, it was basically an open invitation to see how much damage he could inflict on Boy. He didn’t want to write the letter. But if he didn’t show up with some kind of support animal soon, his friends wouldn’t hesitate to write to Sir again. He’d rather find a wild boar to keep him company.

Wait. Wild. Why did he have to go to a pet shop? Madam Pomfrey already said she would help him train the animal he chose, so why not something from on the grounds? He’d often seen the large man in the little hut with all kinds of creatures. Maybe he could still get what he needed without getting his parents in trouble. Or himself for that matter.

“Do either of you know the man in the hut?” Boy asked.

“The wha- Oh! You mean Hagrid!” Olive shook off her confusion. “Percy’s older brother used to hang out with him a lot because of their mutual love of dangerous creatures.” She had a dopey look on her face. “Charlie.”

“Now, that was a man,” Amelia said with a smirk.

“Okay, no.” Olive groaned. “You’re supposed to be a lesbian.”

“So?” Amelia prompted. “Just because I don’t want his tongue down my throat doesn’t mean that I can’t appreciate a man’s look. Gingers might not do it for me, but he was attractive.”

Olive muffled her giggle explosion in her sleeve.

Boy excused himself as they rated the cuteness of the guys in their year. He didn’t want any part in that. Yack.

Knocking on the wooden door, Boy wrapped his cloak around himself a bit more tightly.

“‘Ello!” Came the cheerful boom of the man’s voice.

Boy gasped, never having been so close to the man before. He was so much taller than Boy had originally thought. “Hi,” he squeaked.

“Wha’ can I do fer yeh?” Hagrid asked kindly.

“Well,” Boy started, gaining confidence. “I was hoping we could talk for a bit. About animals.”

Hagrid’s face lit up. “O’course! Come on in! I was jus’ about ter make some tea.”

Boy smiled, feeling immediately at ease. “Thank you.”

When Hagrid set down two huge wooden tankards and filled one with tea, Boy stopped him.

“Would it be terribly rude of me to shrink this a bit?” He asked, hoping he didn’t offend the man.

“Yeh learn’d shrinkin’ charms already?”

“Yes, sir,” Boy replied. “I’ll put it to rights before I leave.”

“Alrigh’,” Hagrid nodded. “But none o’ that ‘sir’ stuff. Yeh can call me Hagrid.”

Taking out his ‘wand’, he shrunk the mug. It had gone from the size of a small bucket to a standard teacup. He left the original look, so it was still wood with two loops of iron to hold it together. “Thank you, Hagrid.”

Beaming, he poured Boy’s tea. “So, wha’ kind o’ animals do yeh want ter talk abou’?”

“Well,” Boy scratched his head. “I’m not entirely sure. You see, Madam Pomfrey has suggested that I get some kind of support animal because of my leg. I recently took a tumble down the stairs and I was by myself. She suggested that I choose something a bit on the larger side so that I can lean on it if need be. It also needs to be able to be trained to fetch someone if I’m in need of assistance.”

“Like takin’ another tumble?”

Boy crinkled his nose at that, but nodded.

He hummed, stroking his massive scraggly beard. “A dog’d prob’ly be yer bes’ bet. Bigger, like Fang.” He hitched his chin toward the bed where a large, dopey boarhound lifted one ear at the mention of his name.

Boy smiled at the dog. “Si- er, Hagrid, do you know if there are any on the grounds? I would prefer not to miss any more classes, being my OWL year and all.”

“Tiny fella like you takin’ yer OWL’s? Must be smart.”

Flushing at the praise, Boy shrugged.

“Righ’,” Hagrid hummed again. “Well, there’s a couple o’ stray dogs runnin’ about. Yeh’ll be need’n summat with a bit o’ smarts, and strong to boot. There’s on’y one I can think o’ that could work. Yeh migh’ not wan’ ‘im. He’s a good ‘un, but he looks like a Black Shuck.”

“Ah.” Boy said, nodding in understanding. “Is he, though? I can’t imagine a Grim, well, a Black Shuck, traipsing around a school. In theory, a real Shuck wouldn’t be able to get past the wards.”

“Bear ain’t no real Shuck, he jus’ looks like one.” Hagrid explained. “I reckon it puts folks off, but Bear’s nice enough. Strong too, tha’ one. I’d be willin’ ter wager a mite like you’d be able ter ride him like a pony.”

“His name is Bear?” Boy asked, confused.

“Sometimes,” Hagrid replied. “Bu’ sometimes he answers to Cuddles. ‘M not sure if he thinks it’s his name or if he jus’ wants to be cuddled. Either way, it ge’s his ‘ttention jus’ fine. Wouldja like ter meet him?”

“That would be brilliant!” Boy said eagerly.

“Us’lly, he’s ‘round the treeline at the back o’ the lake this time o’ day. Le’s see if we can call him.”

Excited now, Boy picked up his walking stick and headed for the door. He stopped, pointing his ‘wand’ at the mug. A second later, it became a huge tankard again. He didn’t want to forget, especially since Hagrid was being so nice.

He was glad he came down, even if Bear didn’t work out.


	7. Chapter 7

It took them about half an hour to get to the area Hagrid had mentioned. Boy felt bad. The man probably could have gotten there in ten minutes, but kept to Boy’s pace. He’d apologized a few times, but Hagrid had assured him that it was fine.

“There ain’t no rush.”

Boy thanked him, the guilt easing some. Hearing a loud bark, he paused.

Now he understood why Hagrid started calling the dog ‘Bear’.

Bear was barking at a large tentacle that seemed to be taunting him.

It was playing, he realized, with the Giant Squid.

The tentacle was bobbing around Bear, but not touching him. Bear looked ready to pounce, his tail wagging. He let out a happy bark as he leapt onto the tentacle. The tentacle was wiggling until Bear slipped off.

Apparently, that was the whole game, Boy thought. From there, they just started all over again.

“Bear!” Hagrid called.

Bear stopped, head cocking to the side. Upon seeing Hagrid, he gave the tentacle a lick and ran over.

Licking Hagrid’s face all over, his tail continued to wag.

“Alrigh’, Bear. Ge’ down.” Hagrid started wiping the slobber off his face.

Doing as told, Bear put all four paws on the ground. He looked at Boy and gave a few sniffs. Bear approached Boy slowly, still sniffing. He let out a whine, nosing at Boy’s injured leg.

“Hi, Bear,” Boy said, patting the dog. “You’re about the fluffiest doggy I’ve ever seen.”

When Bear stood straight up, they were the same height. He let out another whine, and snuffled at his leg again.

“He can tell yer hurt.” Hagrid said. “Told yeh he was a smart one.”

Boy was impressed by the dog. “Alright, smart doggy. Would you like to stay with me?”

Bear’s head tilted. Sniffing and snuffling, he walked around Boy, as if appraising his worth. When he stopped, he used his muzzle to shift Boy’s sleeve out of the way.

And he bit down.

Terrified, Boy tried to pull away, but Bear wasn’t letting go. He could feel the teeth digging into his skin without breaking it open and the tongue laving at his arm. “Hagrid! Do something!”

“Ain’t nothin’ ter be done.” Hagrid said, sounding awed. “I din’t think he had magic. Full o’ surprises, eh, Bear?”

Boy didn’t want to hit the dog, but it wasn’t letting go. When he finally decided that he couldn’t do it, Bear let his arm slip out of his massive jaw. There were indents from his teeth, but he hadn’t drawn blood. Bear licked the ‘wound’ all over and the indents filled out, leaving a red mark. It almost looked like it had been tattooed into his skin. He gasped. “Did he do what I think he did?”

“Looks like yeh got yerself a pet, Little Mite.” Hagrid said happily. “He’s given yeh the familiar mark!”

Boy beamed. “So, doggy. You’re my familiar, now?”

Bear woofed, wagging his tail a mile a minute. He lowered himself to the ground and gently tugged on Boy’s cloak.

He didn’t have to lean down to pat Bear’s head, but Bear wanted something else. “Do you know what he’s after?”

“Can’ says I do,'' Hagrid replied curiously, scratching his beard. “I was on’y jokin’ about ridin’ him like a pony, but tha’ migh’ be it.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Dunno,” he said honestly. “Won’ know till yeh try, I s’pose.”

Boy felt stupid even considering it. He looked at Bear. “Are you trying to carry me?”

Bear woofed.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this.” Boy stepped closer, wincing as he brought up his injured leg, and wrapped his arms around Bear’s neck as he rose. Shifting a little, he eased his grip. “Oh, Merlin!” He was sitting on a giant dog like a horse!

“Well done!” Hagrid brought his hands together in a loud clap.

“Do you really want to walk to the castle like this, Bear?” Boy asked, already preparing to climb down.

With one more woof, Bear happily trotted away.

“Bye, Hagrid!” Boy called out over his shoulder, bouncing along. “Thank you!”

“Yer welcome, Little Mite.”

“Alright, Bear.” Boy said, sitting up fully, keeping his hands in the soft fur. “It looks like we have an infirmary matron and some friends to scare.”

Bear barked in agreement.

Poor Madam Pomfrey nearly had a heart attack when he walked into the infirmary with Bear padding alongside him.

“I got a dog!” He said, smiling brightly. “He’s not a Grim, I promise. Just a really big dog. His name is Bear, but he answers to Cuddles as well.”

Her eyes were round as saucers. “Cuddles?”

Bear woofed, trotting over to her and licking her face.

“Oh!” She cried out.

“Bear, down!” Boy called, limping toward them.

Bear immediately stopped licking her and sat.

“Good doggy.” Boy said, scratching Bear’s head. He looked at Madam Pomfrey. “He let me ride him from the lake to the front doors, though he probably would have brought me all the way up if I hadn’t told him to let me down. He marked me with a familiar bite.” Pulling back his sleeve, he showed her the red mark.

"Oh my!" She exclaimed, gently brushing her fingers over the mark. "Would you look at that?"

"Hagrid said he didn't know that Bear was magical. I wonder what that means for him."

"Usually," she said, taking a seat. "The most common form of magic for a familiar is the ability to understand what their owner says, but only to a point. Some are able to apparate directly to the side of their owner, or they apparate their owner to their side. Some even have elemental affinities."

Boy looked at Bear curiously. "Can you do any of that?"

Bear woofed, wagging his tail.

"Okay," Boy said. "We'll take this slowly. Can you understand me?"

Woof and wag.

"Can you apparate to me?"

Woof and wag.

"Can you apparate me to your side?"

This time he gave a mournful whimper.

"That's alright, Bear. Don't be sad." He scratched Bear behind the ears. "How about elemental affinities?"

Woof and wag.

"Really?! That's amazing! Okay, is water your element?"

Whimper.

"Earth?"

Whimper.

"Fire?"

Woof and wag.

"Can you show me?" He asked excitedly.

Bear looked around, then made a strange sound in the back of his throat. He belched out a puddle of liquid fire and started rolling around in it like a puppy in mud.

"Up, Bear!" Boy cried, vanishing the puddle. Amidst all his splashing, one of the nearby curtains had caught fire.

Bear scrambled upright and sat at Boy's feet. He licked at the hand closest to him.

"It's okay, Bear. I accept your apology. Let's keep the fire stuff outside, alright? It's much more dangerous inside." Boy glanced sheepishly at the matron. "Sorry, Madam Pomfrey."

Bear licked her hand too.

"Are you hiding anything else, silly dog?" She asked, rubbing her knuckles under his chin.

Woof and wag. Bear huffed for a moment, then stepped back a bit. Suddenly, a pair of black leathery wings sprouted from his shoulders and a pair of short, black horns curved along his head.

"You can fly?!" Boy was astonished by his new friend.

Woof and wag, followed by the soft sound of his wings shifting. They snapped against the air, flapping faster and faster until Bear rose from the floor. All four paws tucked in as he circled over their heads.

Bear landed and got down on the floor like before.

"Is that another affinity or is it because of whatever breed of dog he is?" Boy asked the matron. "If I didn't know better, I'd think he was part dragon, what with the fire breathing and the wings."

Bear huffed, shaking his head, almost as if offended. He stood on his back legs.

"Two legs?" Boy wondered aloud. "Dragons have four legs. Wait, wyverns are similar to dragons and they're bipedal. Bear, are you part wyvern?"

Bear woofed and flashed his tail, which while furry, had a barbed end.

"So, you mean to tell me that my familiar is a part dog, part wyvern that goes by the name Bear?" Boy gaped.

Woof and wag.

"My goodness!" Madam Pomfrey gasped. "I've never heard of such a thing!"

"Me neither!" Boy proclaimed, excited to research his familiar. "Bear, you are a marvel."

Bear preened, letting his wings retract into his back and his horns slid back into his head. He just looked like a regular (huge) black dog again.

"I'm not sure he will need training, Harry." She said, still awed by the strange beast.

"I'd like to introduce him to Professor Flitwick. I figure that you and him are the best choices for Bear to come to if I need help."

"That's a good idea," she said kindly.

"You hear that, Bear?" Boy asked, ruffling his ears. "If I need help, you come get Madam Pomfrey. Okay?"

Woof! He nuzzled her fingers.

"Go on, you silly beast." She said, giving him a firm pat.

"Come on, Bear! Let's go meet Professor Flitwick and scare the girls!" Boy grinned.

Madam Pomfrey chuckled as they left.

Boy remembered the meeting with Professor Vector at a quarter after two. He was fifteen minutes late! Oh no!

Pushing himself, Boy hurried as quickly as possible to get to the arithmancy classroom.

Bear huffed and got down on the floor.

Boy bit his lip unsure, but climbed on his back nonetheless. "Careful with the stairs, Bear."

Holding his familiar's neck tightly, Boy squeezed his eyes shut until they leveled out.

"Alright, go left." It hadn't even occurred to him to find out if he knew directions, but Bear went left. Curious about his dog's knowledge, he told Bear to go to the fourth door on the right. He watched incredulously as Bear followed his instructions to a T.

"Alright, Bear." Boy said, climbing down. "This is the arithmancy classroom. We're going to chat with the professor. Can you sit by me until we've finished?"

He wagged his tail.

Boy pushed the door open. "I'm so sorry, Professor Vector. I was showing my new familiar around and I lost track of time."

"You finally got a support animal?" She asked. "That's good news. Come in."

"Come on, Bear." Boy said, pushing the door open further.

Professor Vector jumped at the sight. "You don't do anything halfway, do you?"

"No, Professor," Boy snorted. "I suppose not."

Bear stayed dutifully by his side the rest of the way and curled up on the floor as soon as Boy took his seat.

She summoned an elf for tea. "Now," she said, pouring the tea. "If you remember, as I'm sure you did, I told you that there was a staff meeting yesterday."

"Yes, ma'am."

"You were a major point of discussion, Mr. Potter."

"Me? Why?"

"Your academic performance, of course." She crossed her legs. "The school board cannot allow a student to take their NEWT's without first taking their OWL's, which is why you're stuck in the fifth year, rather than the seventh. The school board has decided that if you do well enough on the OWL's, you'll be able to skip your sixth year. It's a little known fact that the tests include information beyond what is taught for the year. It sounds unfair, but it only enhances the scores. If the advanced questions are incorrect, it doesn't go against the scores. That would be inappropriate. Instead, if there are enough of the 'secret' questions answered correctly, then the students can be placed in advanced courses when necessary. I believe that you could very well be moved directly to seventh year."

Boy didn't know what to say. He didn't know what to think. "Are you joking?"

At that, the professor laughed. "Education is not something I would joke about. Especially when the student in question is so gifted."

Boy blushed brightly. "Wait. That means I won't be with my friends anymore." He didn't want that. He liked having friends!

As if sensing his upset, Bear rested his head on Boy's lap.

"I don't believe that is the wisest way of looking at the situation, Mr. Potter." She told him. "It's not as though you'll never see them again. It will only be for classes. You'll still see them at meals and during your free time. I would be quite disappointed if you didn't put in your best work to stay with your friends. You wouldn't sacrifice your future, would you?"

He wanted to argue the point but didn’t say a word.

“You still have several months before you take the OWL’s. I want you to think long and hard about this, Mr. Potter.” She said sternly.

Nodding, he excused himself. Suddenly the idea of scaring his friends didn’t seem like so much fun. Having Penny, Olive and Amelia in his classes, he was pretty sure, was the only thing keeping him from being hexed when the teachers' backs were turned. Of course, it wasn’t only that having friends afforded him a little security, they also made it fun. He liked racing Penny in arithmancy. He liked when Amelia would ask him about why different plants would react with various potions. He liked how Olive would make funny faces when she was concentrating in transfiguration because it was something she struggled to enjoy. He liked when they tutored each other in their best subjects.

As he left the classroom, something hard slammed into him, sending him sprawling.

“If you’re not on the pitch at four,” Marcus Flint sneered. “I will personally make sure that you’re-”

Bear snarled at Flint, slowly stalking closer.

“What the fuck?!” Flint squealed, seeing what looked like a Grim about to attack. In his haste to get away, he tripped over his robes.

Bear was on top of him, growling.

“Bear!” Boy called. “Come here.”

From snarling and growling, Bear pranced to Boy’s side looking satisfied with himself. He licked Boy’s face and sniffed him all over.

“I’m not hurt, Bear.” He said, patting the beast’s neck. He waited until Flint had gone from sight to get up. His bullies liked to taunt him as he struggled to stand, so he didn’t do it anymore. Besides, Sir always took it as an invitation to continue, so he stayed down.

Bear gently bit down on the back of his robes and tugged.

Boy was surprised, but he realized he shouldn’t have been. Bear was a magical creature who had connected himself irrevocably to Boy. “You’re such a good doggy… thing. I really need to look up what you are. I don’t like calling you a thing. Until I figure it out, I’m calling you my doggy.”

Bear licked his face.

Boy giggled. “I’m so glad you agree.”

At first, the girls had been terrified, but learned of Bear’s love of cuddles and sweet nature and that was it. They were smitten.

For some reason, he didn’t ask for their help to find out what exactly he was. He told them, of course, but he wanted to solve the puzzle on his own.

He sighed at three thirty. It was time for him to head down to the pitch for practice.

Much to his incredulity, Boy was pretty much left alone. He was still the target of too many bludgers to be a coincidence but they weren’t openly taunting him or harassing him!

It was the best practice he’d been to yet! He was just happy that Bear hadn’t flown onto the pitch when the bludgers were so deliberately aimed at him. He didn’t want his housemates to know that Bear was part wyvern. They were wary enough of the ‘Grim’ that followed him.

Practices were becoming colder as November faded into December. His classes were still going very well and some of his professors had taken him aside and told him that they were going to be giving him more advanced work to do outside of class. The only two that hadn’t were Professors Snape and McGonagall. Boy didn’t mind the extra work, because they had exempt him from most of the regular homework. He was still doing classwork and all of his tests, but his homework was based on the reading for the sixth years. The professors gave him secondhand books that had been either donated or forgotten by previous students to keep up. His friends were scanning the books too, when they had time. Because of that, Penny was excelling in Potions in a way that left her stunned. Olive was doing better in Transfiguration and Amelia was embracing the information in Herbology, which was also boosting her Potions work.

When he’d told them about his (one-sided) conversation with Professor Vector, they were upset. It wasn’t because they wouldn’t be in class together anymore but at his less than excited feelings on the matter. They didn’t understand that he’d never had a single friend before Penny, and he certainly wasn’t going to tell them. They were already acting suspiciously when the Potter’s were brought up.

During that time, he also continued to grow his ‘salon business’. Penny had taken over scheduling when he became overwhelmed with requests from upper year girls from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff for Hogsmeade dates every weekend. The only time he refused was within an hour of his games. There had been a few, and he’d caught the snitch every time.

Because of this, he was finding himself with less and less free time as the term began to slip away. On the upside, he had about five whole galleons saved up on his gift certificate. He would use that money for Christmas presents for his friends.

When Penny had a date with Percy, he gave the certificate to Amelia. When Amelia had a date with Freya, he gave it to Olive, and when Olive had her dalliances (because she assured them that they were not dates) with a Raven called Roger Davies, Penny got the certificate.

He'd spent hours going over the store catalogues to pick stuff out for each of them. Much to his delight, he had spent a little over half of his money, so he still had two galleons and a handful of knuts and sickles. Even though Percy was slightly less than friendly, he found a set of quills.

It might not be the most personal gift, but Percy didn't seem to have any hobbies. The quills came with metal nibs so that he wouldn't have to worry about breaking the tips.

For Freya, who he really didn't know aside from being Amelia's girlfriend, he got a medium sized box of chocolates. They all had caramel filling, but were cloaked in strange flavors of chocolate. Amelia said the girl liked caramel, so he went with that.

Olive told him flat-out not to get anything for Roger. She said he was only good for his tongue.

"Kissing is gross," Boy said absently, flipping through another catalogue.

"Olive!" Penny hissed. "You should not say things like that in front of eleven year olds! What is wrong with you?"

Olive's eyes widened. "Sorry! I keep forgetting how young you are, Kitten."

"I've heard worse than you talking about kissing." He replied easily, not understanding why it was such a big deal.

Amelia pulled him close and petted his hair, knowing how much he loves it. "Alright, Kitten." She said, flipping to the beginning of the chapter. "Explain this. I've read this twice, and I'm still lost."

"It'll cost you," he said in a sing-song tone.

Her nose scrunched, but she dug around her bag. "You already worked your way through most of the chocolates, which is kind of disgusting, but I got these for you to try."

She held out a red lollipop.

"I'm not overly fond of lollies." He'd help her regardless, but he didn't want that.

"They're the same flavor as the chocolates."

His brows rose, intrigued. "Okay." Tugging off the cellophane, he popped the lolly in his mouth. "Mmm," he hummed around the sweet. Maybe lollies weren't so bad.

She made a face. "What is it with you and blood candy?"

Boy's jaw dropped, the lolly falling in his lap. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Did you seriously not know that the sweets you've been so obsessed with were made with blood?" Penny asked, astonished. "What did you think they were?"

"Not blood!" Boy shouted, scrubbing his mouth on his sleeve.

"Harry," Olive said carefully. "They're what you've been asking for them the past two months. How did you not know what they were?"

Boy was horrified. He started scratching his arms. "I don't know! I just-"

"Out!" Madam Pince rounded the corner, looking angry. "I will not have my library disturbed by-Harry?" She was shocked that he was the source of the shouting.

"I'm sorry, Madam Pince." He stopped scratching. "I should get back to my common room."

Bear picked up the knapsack Boy left behind and trotted along with him, offering silent comfort.

Why hadn't they told him what those candies were? They'd been giving him blood candy for two months! Why?

Boy froze. Why did he like them so much? Was this a part of the disease Ma'am and Sir were constantly going on about? Is that why a tiny part of him wanted that disgusting lolly, even after finding out what it was?

No. It wasn't his disease. And he wasn't going to ever touch that vile candy again. Ever.

Two days later, Professor Snape showed the Slytherins a sheet of parchment on the bulletin board. It was for students to sign if they were going to stay over the holidays.

Boy desperately wanted to sign it, but… should he? Jamie would absolutely be going back to the manor, which was good. But would Sir and Ma'am make him go along to keep up appearances? To make it look like they lov-wanted him 'home'? Despite never having been allowed to leave before this past summer, he couldn't really call that place home.

He needed someone to talk to, but who? His friends couldn't find out about the way his so-called family felt about him. He had already gotten into serious trouble when they wrote that blasted letter.

"And if anyone wishes to remain," the professor was saying. "Parental consent must be brought to myself or the Headmaster by no later than the thirteenth. That is next Friday, for those of you who don't already know. I will not tolerate excuses, nor will I accept late consent forms. Back to your studies." With that, the professor strode out of the room, robes billowing.

Not a single student signed up. Why would they? They probably have nice homes and nice families to go home to. Families who actually acknowledge their existence.

Boy sighed. He could tell that it was going to be another long night. It seemed that the closer the holidays got, the more antsy his housemates became. By now, he was used to staying up until midnight, despite having to get up earlier than the others. It was fine. He was getting almost six hours a night.

Honestly, he really only felt bad for Bear. There hadn't been enough space to turn something into a bed, and now the poor beast was stuck in there with him. Bear had gone from sleeping wherever he wanted to being squished into a broom cupboard.

"Why do you stay with me at night, Bear?" Boy asked the beast. "You could stay in the common room by the fire. Curl up and stay nice and warm."

Bear huffed and gave him a look that clearly said 'yeah right'.

"You could!" He said persistently. "I've got you all cramped in here with me. It isn't fair to you."

Boy could swear he saw the hybrid roll his eyes.

Bear carefully bit the collar of his transfigured pajamas and pulled him closer.

It was out of necessity, really. Bear took up a lot of space, so Boy had started curling up as best he could and used Bear's middle as a pillow. It wasn't the most comfortable situation, but he was fine.

At least when he was forc-when he went to the manor, he'd have his little elf mattress for a few weeks. It was a far cry from luxury, but in comparison it was practically extravagant.

A week later, a regal looking, pure white falcon landed gracefully in front of him. Boy let his spoon drop back into his porridge. The falcon held out a letter.

"Vasilis!" Draco called out. "I'm over here. Leave the trash alone. There's no telling what you might catch."

Boy looked up. Half of the lower years were staring at the spectacle. He glanced at the letter before daring to touch it.

_**Mr. H. Potter, Slytherin table, Great Hall, Hogwarts.** _

Well, it was definitely for him.

Just as he reached out to take it, he was covered in porridge, the large serving dish still hanging over his head. At least it wasn't scalding hot stew like last time.

The falcon screeched and lifted off the table to avoid the mess.

Why had he told Bear to go play outside? Oh yeah, because he was supposed to be safe from bullies in front of so many professors.

Doing his best to remain calm, Boy pointed his 'wand' at the mess and vanished it. He still wanted a shower, but he was technically clean. It would have to wait.

Eventually the falcon decided it was safe to deliver the letter, so it landed once again.

Boy was quick to take it.

He pocketed the expense feeling envelope to read in private. He wondered who it was from. People didn't write to him. Ever. The only reason he had gotten his Hogwarts letter was because they were standardized and sent automatically. While he hadn't gotten a good look, there was something familiar about the handwriting.

When he stood, an owl swooped down and dropped a letter. It never even slowed down.

This one was addressed to _**H. P., Hogwarts**_. Odd. That one went into his pocket as well.

He only managed to limp about twenty feet from the door before he was joined by Bear. "Come on, Cuddles," he said, scratching behind the dog's ears. "If we get to class early enough, I can read my letters before anyone else shows up."

Bear nudged him until he stopped walking. He lowered to the floor and waited.

Well, this would all but guarantee that he had plenty of time. "Onward, then, Cuddles." He noticed that he only called the dog Cuddles when he himself was feeling a bit down.

Leaning forward, Boy rested his chin on his familiar's head. He traced random designs in the impossibly soft fur with his index finger all the way down to the greenhouses.

He read the one that bore only his initials.

_**There's no need to come back here until summer.** _   
_**\---Lord James Fleamont Potter** _

Boy couldn't help it. He broke down crying. It didn't make sense. He had wanted to stay in the castle to begin with, but seeing in print how little his own father cared for him hurt. A lot.

He clung to Cuddles' neck desperately, sobbing himself hoarse.

Cuddles gave a sad whine, then began licking his face like crazy.

Boy was startled by the odd behavior and pulled back. "Wh-?"

But he kept licking.

Quickly, he realized that Cuddles was giving him an excuse to wipe his face as students started filing in. "Good doggy," he whispered, making a show of getting rid of the slobber (and his tears).

Penny laughed at their antics. "You know, I think I finally figured it out, Buh-Harry. That monster sized dog chose you so that he could eat you. He's just biding his time. Those aren't kisses. He's making sure you taste good."

"Is that what you're doing, doggy?" Boy asked his familiar in a silly tone. "Are you making sure I'm sweet enough to eat?"

His joke question was met by a yip and a tail wag.

"Told you," Penny smirked.

It was clear to Boy that Cuddles knew he needed cheering up.

Professor Sprout happily went over what they were doing for the day and had them split into groups of two or three.

He and Penny stuck together at the table next to Amelia and Olive. While they were all close, Penny was his closest friend.

The same was true for Olive and Amelia. They were closer to each other. It worked out perfectly. No one was ever left out.

"So why did a Malfoy write you?" She asked out of the corner of her mouth.

Boy's brow knit in confusion.

"The pretentious falcon. It belongs to Lord Malfoy." She said, rolling her eyes.

That's why the handwriting looked familiar. It was the same as his letter from the board of education.

"I haven't read it yet." He shrugged, going back to his own Burning Gelphrey plant. It sank its tiny fangs into his middle finger and he was very glad to have the protective dragonhide gloves.

She sketched the basic outline of the Gelphrey and directed him to adjust it this way and that. "Why didn't you open the letter yet?"

"I'll get to it later," he said, turning the bulb downward so she could detail the sketch.

"So… you'll tell me later?" She asked, grinning. Her grin faltered as she eyed the plant. "Why is it turning orange like that?"

"Wh-?" He gasped in alarm. "Get down!"

Before she could react, Boy yanked her arm and pulled her under the table.

Professor Sprout cried out in shock as his familiar ate the ticking time bomb that is the Burning Gelphrey. "Spit it out!"

Breathing a sigh of relief, he got out from under the table. "It's okay, Professor. He's got a fire affinity. It won't hurt him. Do you know what made it try to throw fireballs in December? It's supposed to be hibernating!" That hibernation was the only reason they could study them safely. Or, it should have been safe.

"All right everyone!" She said loudly. "That's enough for today! Please leave your Gelphrey's where they are and head back to the castle. You're dismissed!"

There was still forty minutes or so left of class, but if her plants were defying nature and starting fires, then no one could blame her for having them leave.

Boy headed for his cupboard to read his letter from Lord Malfoy.

_**Dear Mr. Potter,** _   
**_As is customary, I have written to you to determine whether or not you wish to attend the Yule celebration at Malfoy Manor, as you have yet to respond to the invitation. Please send your response no later than this weekend, so that final preparations can be made with an accurate accounting of the guests. In addition, please add whether you will be attending with a chaperone, or on your own. I do hope to see you there, as does my wife. We will await your reply._ **   
**_Kindest regards,_ **   
**_\---Lord Lucius Abraxas Malfoy_ **

How did reading this letter hurt so much more than Sir's? Was it because Lord Malfoy actually wanted to see him, even when his- when Sir clearly didn't?

Wait, what invitation?

It made no difference. He was going to accept.

There was still a little time left until he had to get to class, so he quickly penned a short note.

**_Dear Lord Malfoy,_ **   
**_I apologize for not acknowledging your gracious invitation before now, as I had not received one. It would be wonderful to attend such an infamous affair, and I am quite looking forward to it, as well as meeting your lovely wife. I will likely be attending alone, but I will need to confirm such arrangements with my parents._ **   
**_Many thanks,_ **   
**_Harry E. Potter_ **

He still had no idea what the E stood for, but since Lord Malfoy used his middle name, Boy would use his middle initial.

He would wait until after his last class of the day to send the note. He had never been to the owlery, nor had he ever sent mail, so he’d have one of his friends show him.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not super plot heavy, but we're still not that far into things. And on to the chapter!

"Alright, Buh-Harry," Penny said sternly. "Let's hear it. What did Malfoy want?"

Olive and Amelia looked at each other in confusion.

"It was just an invite to their annual Yule Ball." He shrugged.

They waited.

"And?!" Olive prompted impatiently. "What did you say?"

"I accepted," he said simply.

He was startled by the overlapping questions and their gradually increasing pitch. “What is wrong with you guys? It’s just an invitation!”

“To the Malfoy Yule Ball, Kitten!” Olive said excitedly. “It’s the social event of the year!”

“You’ll look smashing in dress robes!” Amelia said happily.

Boy’s eyes bulged. “I don’t have any!”

Penny snorted. “You still have time to buy some, Buh-Harry. It isn’t the end of the world.”

Buy some? With what money?

He bit his lip, trying to figure out how to make some more money. What little he had was already spent on Christmas gifts for his friends and their boy/girlfriends. “My father isn’t fond of Lord Malfoy,” he said, happy that he was able to call Sir his father without stumbling. “I’ll need to come up with the money on my own. Can you guys help me schedule more people for the ‘salon’? I don’t have a match this weekend.” He gave them puppy dog eyes and stuck out his lower lip.

“Kitten,” Amelia snorted. “You’re pretty much booked. The only way to get more people would be to open up shop a couple hours early. You might be good, but you also need to sleep sometime.”

“Yeah,” Olive agreed. “You’re already in the Great Hall for breakfast by exactly seven on the weekends. Those days are supposed to be for sleeping in.”

Boy felt guilty. “You all get up early to have breakfast with me, don’t you? Even though you want to sleep in? That isn’t necessary at all. I’ve always gotten up around dawn, but there’s no reason for you to do the same!” That may not have been completely true, but… well, it is now. Back in his attic, he did wake up briefly when the sun came through the window, but he usually went back to sleep for another two or three hours. Here, he was up at dawn out of necessity.

“Mornings do suck,” Amelia smirked. “But we like hanging out with you more.”

Penny and Olive nodded.

“Besides,” Penny said, tugging her hair into a ponytail. “It’ll be good practice for next year, since we won’t have classes together, Mr. Boy Genius.”

This time, his pout was real. He hated thinking about next year. There was no way he wouldn’t do his best on the OWLs, but he just wasn’t thrilled with the idea of advancing beyond them. On the other hand, it would be nice to learn some new things. But was it really worth not having his friends nearby?

"Whatever you're thinking," Olive said, catching his attention. "Quit it. You're too cute to look so sad."

He smiled. It would be okay. His friends would make sure of it.

_Sir,_ (he couldn't bring himself to say 'dear')  
_The consent form must be filled out by tomorrow, or they won't let me stay._  
_H.P._

Short and to the point. There was no need to write out a long winded letter to Sir, other than to waste precious ink.

Catching up with Amelia, he asked her to show him where the owlery was so he could send his note. He couldn't call it a letter, and he didn't particularly mind.

"Sure," she said sweetly. "Come on, Kitten."

In the end, she had to let Bear carefully carry him up the ice-slicked stairs.

"Do you know how long it would take to get a response all the way from London?" Boy asked, unsure.

She shrugged. "Depends, really. If you need a quick reply, you should pick one of these owls, as they're the fastest fliers. They'll be able to make it by tonight, and be back before sunrise."

From there, she showed him the tag system. Red tags meant that they were the fastest. Blue tags meant that they were the best for long trips. Yellow meant that they were only for local trips. Black tags were for heavier loads, and white meant letters only.

Each of the owls had two or three tags affixed to their legs, one or two colors, and the other tag was either black or white.

Boy picked a brown owl with a red tag as well as a white and a blue.

For his reply to Lord Malfoy, he chose an owl with a blue tag and a white. He had no idea where the Malfoy's lived, so he figured that a long-distance flier would be a safe bet.

"All done?" Amelia asked.

He nodded.

Boy was worried. What if Sir didn't get the permission form returned in time? What would he do? He'd already sent his confirmation to Lord Malfoy. What if Sir refused to let him go?

Crossing his fingers, he went to bed. He would find out in the morning either way.

When the owls swooped down en mass, Boy’s stomach clenched in fear and anticipation. He watched and waited, and eventually, the Malfoy falcon dropped a letter in front of him, then dropped another in front of the Malfoy scion.

Boy waited to read the letter, just like last time. He needed that note from Sir.

But there was no return owl. He wasn’t going to be allowed to stay over break. What was he going to do? There was no way that he was going to be able to go to the Malfoy ball now!

He wasn’t sure how long he was scratching his arms before he realized he was doing it at all. Clenching his fists a few times, he left his plate and sighed. If he was going to make it to class on time, he had to leave soon.

To his right, Bear leapt up and growled, reaching over Boy’s head.

Jerking in surprise, Boy saw a large pot of steaming porridge being tugged out of the air by his Wyhound’s massive jaws.

Sighing, Boy got up from his seat, letting Bear enjoy the puddle of porridge that fell to the floor. It was okay. He knew the house elves cleaned the castle very well.

_**Mr. Potter,** _  
_**My wife and I were most pleased to receive your confirmation to our annual Yule Ball. Enclosed, you will find the floo address. I must apologize for misplacing your invitation. We will be delighted to host you on December 24th, at six pm.** _  
_**Many happy regards,** _  
_**\---Lord Lucius Abraxas Malfoy** _

Boy refolded the note and looked at his Wyhound. “What are we going to do, doggy? Sir will never let us attend, and I still haven’t got enough money to purchase dress robes.”

Bear let out a sad, high-pitched whine, then his ears perked up. Gently taking the note, he got down on the floor and waited.

“Are you taking me somewhere?” Boy asked.

Bear’s barbed tail wagged, so Boy climbed onto his back.

Much to his surprise, he was being taken to the dungeons.

Stopping abruptly at the potions classroom door, he let Boy climb down and nudged the door open with his muzzle.

“Class does not begin for fifteen minutes!” The Potion’s Master called out, his gaze never leaving the parchment on the mahogany desk.

“I’m sorry, sir.” Boy said immediately. “I think Bear wanted to see you, actually.” Even saying it sounded stupid.

Taking that as his queue, Bear pranced to the rack of phials and took two of them.

“Potter!” The professor snarled. “You will reign in your beast immediately!”

Not wanting to get into any kind of trouble, Boy did just that. “Bear, no!”

Bear let out a whine and set his goods down on the floor.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Boy repeated. “I don’t understand why-”

Letting out a huff, Bear let out his wings and horns.

Professor Snape gasped. “You have a Wyhound?”

“Yes, sir. I found out what he was a few days ago.”

With astonishing precision, Bear popped the cork of one of the phials with his huge teeth. Then stuck the entire thing in his mouth.

“Bear!” Boy cried out, limping as fast as he could. “Spit it out!” He didn’t want his doggy hurt on broken glass!

Shifting the phial in his teeth, Bear let it fill up with his slobber.

Crinkling his nose in disgust, Boy took the phial. “Why did you do that? It could have cut you!”

“A moment, Potter.” The professor said quickly and faced Bear. “Wyhound, is that for me?”

His tail wagged, but he put a paw over the phial, not letting the man take it.

Professor Snape raised a brow. “Must I say ‘please’?” He drawled sarcastically.

Bear shook his head, then bit down on the soft tissue of his wing. There was a horrible ripping noise, and a narrow strip of wing leather was hanging from his teeth.

Professor Snape stopped Boy from tending his doggy.

“What are you doing?” Boy asked, horrified. “He’s hurting himself!”

“He is not hurting himself!” Came the exasperated retort. “So long as the tissue sample is freely given, it will repair itself. Now, cease your hysterics!”

Boy hadn’t even realized he was crying, but stopped nonetheless.

“What was the second phial for, Wyhound?”

When Bear growled, Boy cut in. “Sir, I think he’d prefer you called him by his name.”

As Bear’s tail wagged, the professor rolled his eyes. “Bear was it?”

Bear woofed happily.

“Very well,” he sneered. “Why do you need a second phial, Bear?”

Lifting a paw, Bear touched the spot just under his eye, then blinked several times.

“Tears as well?” The astonishment in his voice was clear.

While Bear wagged his tail, he snuffled at the Potion’s Master’s pocket, blocking his access to the drool and the wing sliver.

“There is nothing in there for you,” he said, pushing the beast’s muzzle away. Then it clicked. “You want money?” Of course a beast of Potter’s would demand payment.

Bear’s tail wagged again.

Knowing how expensive the ingredients were, the man sighed. “I am well aware of how much these ingr- _items_ cost. I will agree to a discounted price. As it stands, all I have at the moment is approximately seventy-five percent of the cost.”

Hesitating, Bear eventually moved to let the man take his spoils.

The professor held the second phial under Bear’s eye and watched in clinical fascination as it filled. When that was corked, he dug around for a money pouch and extracted handfuls of gold, counting as he went.

Boy’s eyes widened as the stacks grew.

“One hundred and fifty galleons, as agreed.”

Boy gasped and looked at Bear as his letter was put back into his hands. He blinked. “You did that… for me?”

Woof and wag.

"Did I ever tell you that you are the greatest, bestest, sweetest doggy in the world?" He asked, scrubbing his knuckles behind Bear's floppy ears.

Bear's tongue lolled out the side of his mouth as he preened under the praise.

"Okay," Boy said happily. "Come on, then. We need to get to Ancient Runes in less than ten minutes!"

"Yes, Wyhound," the professor said without looking away from the phials. "Take your pet to class."

Boy's shoulders slumped slightly, but as soon as he was far enough from the room, he grinned broadly.

Even after Ancient Runes and Herbology, Boy was hugging the muscle-y neck of his familiar, and continued singing Bear praises.

"Aww," Olive said, rounding the corner. "What did Cuddles do to earn all the lovey dovey stuff? Or are you just being mushy for no reason?"

"Not that I _need_ a reason," he said pompously. "But someone has been a very good doggy. He solved the little money problem I was having."

At that, she was lost. "What'd he do, rob Gringotts?"

Boy snorted. "'Course not. It was one of the professors. Anyway, about how much would a set of dress robes cost?"

Olive stared down Bear. "Did you really rob a teacher?"

Bear huffed, as if offended. He refused to look in her general direction again.

"I think you hurt his feelings, Olive." Boy giggled.

Wriggling awkwardly, she pulled something out of her pocket. "Will this help?" She asked Bear, waving… something in front of his muzzle.

"What is that?" Boy wondered aloud, inspecting the odd strip of what seemed to be some kind of dried meat. It wasn't any kind he'd ever seen before.

"Erumpent jerky," she said with a shrug. "Supposedly it's good for them. Something to do with the vitamins in their blood."

Boy's stomach grumbled.

"Sounds like it's time for grub for us too. Let's go find Amelia and Penelope and demolish a whole tray of chicken."

He nodded, but chicken wasn't too appealing. There were so many options that something would surely call to him.

True to his stomach, he didn’t see any meats that appealed to him. They were all overcooked, so he had a bowl of fruit. He still couldn’t identify them all, but he was getting better about it. As he figured, his tastes had developed since arriving, but it was still changing. He wasn’t too bothered by it. Really, he just figured that he was bound to like almost everything, at least in the beginning. Up to October, he’d had some form of bread with every meal, but hasn’t touched anything breadbased since. Breakfast and lunch were simple enough to deal with, as they had fruit, which he was quickly becoming obsessed with, but dinners were another problem all together. He was avoiding most meats, and he was only eating certain vegetables. Last night he’d only had a plate of asparagus, green beans and carrots.

For all of the things he had been eating, he could feel full, but never satisfied.

It might have taken him a while to realize it, but apparently he hadn’t been the only one.

Professor Snape appeared next to him as he arrived early to potions. He did not look happy.

“Hello, sir,” Boy said calmly, despite his racing heart.

“Tell me, Potter,” Snape began, condescension clear in his silky voice. “As the first term is nearing its end, why have you not alerted myself or another member of staff to your dietary restrictions?”

“Restrictions?” He asked, confused.

“You are a vegetarian, are you not?”

What? “No, sir.” He replied, brows knit. “I don’t think so…?”

Snape sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It means that you do not eat meat.”

“Oh!” Boy said, relieved. “No, sir. I mean, I’m not particularly fond of poultry, but the other stuff is overcooked. It’s no big deal.”

One thin brow arched as it lifted. “To your seat.”

Boy bit his lip. “Yes, sir.”

“ You will cease aiding Miss Odoa in class. Any tutoring will be done outside of class. By their fifth year, I expect my students to be prepared. Do you understand me?” Snape asked severely.

“Yes, sir.” He repeated, then headed for his seat. As there were no assigned seats, he decided to stop hiding in the back of the room. He took a seat in the third row, rather than the fifth.

After class, Boy stayed behind. “Sir?”

“What is it?” Came the irritated response as he scrubbed the blackboard.

For a moment, Boy was tempted to ask why he wasn’t using a spell, but decided against it. “I know it’s my own fault, but…”

At that, Snape turned around.

“But I didn’t get the permission form signed in time to stay for the holidays, sir. I didn’t send it soon enough.” There. Get it all out at once.

“And that is my problem, how?” Snape asked, unimpressed.

Boys’ hands clenched into fists. He couldn’t scratch in public. “I suppose it’s not, sir. Have a good day.”

Without a word, Snape waved him off.

“Hey, Kitten,” Amelia said, flopping into one of the armchairs next to his. She let her bulging knapsack fall to the floor with a loud thud.

He waved, his eyes never leaving his book.

“What warm welcome,” she said sarcastically. “I feel so loved.”

As he finished up the paragraph, he placed the book, still open, on the coffee table. Then flung himself onto her lap. “Oh, ‘Melia, I’ve missed you ever so much! I’m so glad you’re here! You have no idea how difficult it is to go three full hours without seeing you! You simply must marry me, so that we’re never apart again!”

She gave a quick nod. “That’s more like it, Kitten.” Hugging him tightly, she planted a big, smacking kiss on his cheek.

Neither of them could contain their laughter.

They were kicked out of the library.

“We might not be able to get married in the library,” Amelia joked, feigning hurt. “But I just don’t see how this will work at all. You haven’t even given me a ring yet. I’m a respectable woman, Mr. Potter!”

This time, away from the library, their laughter was much louder.

“Hey,” Olive and Penny called, exiting a classroom.

“You’re going the wrong way,” Penny said with a grin.

At that, their laughter picked right back up.

Boy was shaking his head, struggling to control his giggle fit. “We-” deep breath. “We can’t… kicked out…”

“And now we’re getting married!” Amelia half-shouted, losing her composure once more.

The foursome was turning the corner before Boy and Amelia calmed down.

“Just so you know,” Olive smirked as they closed the door of an abandoned classroom. “I’m telling Freya that she’s got no chance now. Not since you’ve jumped back on the weiner wagon.”

“Olive!” Penny and Amelia shouted, scandalized.

“Is this one of those ‘Harry is only eleven!’ moments?” He asked, not sure.

“Yes,” they all said immediately.

“Okay.” He shrugged, dropping his bag, unfazed. “Well, I don’t have any work to do. What about you guys?”

Penny gaped. “What about Runes? That was just assigned this morning!”

“Did it during history,” he replied honestly. That class was boring and not really informative.

“I thought you were taking notes,” she said disbelievingly. “How did you get three full feet finished in a single class period?”

“With my… quill?” It was more of a question than an answer, but he didn’t totally understand. Since it was a classroom, there were only uncomfortable wooden chairs. He gestured for them to stand. With his fake wand, he summoned several of the chairs and put them in a semicircle, then transfigured them into a blue curved sofa with bronze piping. With that done, he shortened one of the tall tables. “Those chairs were awful. Is this better?”

Rather than answer, they piled on, leaving a gap between Penny and the others.

Smiling, he took the open spot. He loved feeling so included, even for such small things. He really loved his friends. “I was thinking,” he eventually said, leaning on Penny’s shoulder.

Pulling their eyes away from their books, they looked at him.

“Since we won’t be here for Yule,” he began. “Why don’t we have our own little celebration the night before we leave? I can give you all your gifts and we’ll eat too much sugar.”

“Yes!” Olive cheered. “That sounds fantastic!”

“Our dorm after dinner?” Amelia suggested.

“And no significant others!” Penny said adamantly.

“That’s because yours can’t get into the dorms.” Amelia snorted.

Penny just rolled her eyes.

“Why can’t he get in?” Boy asked.

“Because boys can’t get into…” Olive’s voice trailed off. “The girls’ dorms.”

“I never even thought about that. So, how did Buh-Harry get in?” Penny wondered aloud.

Boy just shrugged.

The others had no answer either.

Shrugging it off, Penny shifted to the floor so that she could write her essay on the coffee table.

As Boy had nothing to do, he pulled the elastic from her hair and began combing through it with his fingers. He turned a scroll of parchment into a handful of tiny metal clips. Before they knew it, Penny’s hair was in an elaborately braided pile on the top of her head.

“Merlin, Kitten,” Amelia said, shaking her head in wonder. “If you weren’t so smart, I’d think you were born to be a hairdresser. You didn’t even have a comb or anything.”

He blushed, not believing it was as big of a deal as they made it out to be. “The Potter family library has books on a lot of subjects, even muggle ones. There were four books on hair styling alone, even if they were stuffed in a corner.”

“Who cares what they were about!” Penny said, affronted. “No books should ever be hidden away!”

“They weren’t hidden, just put on a shelf that wasn’t… out in the open. From what I could tell, they were only the ones that-” don’t call them by their names! “-my father didn’t appreciate very much. I think they were my mothers’ books. There were thirty-six romance novels on that shelf. That’s what made me think about making Penny pretty for Percy. One was about a Lady, called Emmalyn. She was being courted by some Lord that she didn’t fancy at all. I think he was like thirty years older than her or something. Anyway, she found herself being attracted to one of the Queen’s Ladies, who happened to be the eldest sister of a Duke. Emmalyn was the third born daughter of a Baron, which was obviously not as highly regarded as the Princess she fancied, Elsbeth. Elsbeth wouldn’t give her the time of day, so she went with her family to their summer home in a different country and lied about her identity and tricked a seamstress into making her clothes on the promise that she would be bringing her other wealthy friends to purchase their clothes from there, as she had very little money. So, she got prettied up for Princess Elsbeth, who finally seemed to notice her.”

During this tale, Boy had turned his quill into a charcoal pencil and began sketching on a bit of parchment. “I figured that if it worked for Emmalyn, it might work for Penny.”

“Who cares about that?!” Penny said excitedly. “I want to know what happened next! Did Emmalyn marry Elsbeth?”

Olive and Amelia were quick to start pelting questions as well.

Startled by their vehemence, Boy looked up from his sketch. They were all watching him in anticipation. Boy giggled to himself. Girls were so strange. “I’ll tell you the whole story, after you’ve all finished your homework. Really! Someone will think you’re all a bunch of Hufflepuffs, wanting to hear a mushy love story and ignoring your assignments! For shame.”

They all cracked up at that.

“Fine,” Amelia agreed. “But since we have to wait until we’re done, you’re going to tell the whole story, in detail, and not skip over what you already told us. Deal?”

“Oh, alright,” he said, sighing heavily, as if it were an inconvenience. In reality, he liked telling stories. Reading was the closest thing he’d had to companionship for nearly ten years, so he knew a lot of stories. “Eager, are we?”

“SHHHHHH!” They all said, diving back into their work.

That was fine. Boy went back to his drawing until they finished.


End file.
